What life is this?
They should warn you when you're young.
Am I alone in this?
I have a heart that's open
and so often, find it broken.
What time is this?
I have no clocks.
In rooms made out of bricks,
rubber necked and split.
Time was something I cared for long ago
when hope was still my gift.
Is it wrong to feel this drift?
I smile at faking faces
with the hopes that they might miss
the apathy persist.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
What life is this?
They should warn you when you're young.
Am I alone in this?
I have a heart that's open
and so often, find it broken.
What time is this?
I have no clocks.
In rooms made out of bricks,
rubber necked and split.
Time was something I cared for long ago
when hope was still my gift.
Is it wrong to feel this drift?
I smile at faking faces
with the hopes that they might miss
the apathy persist.
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