What to do with this brain, opposable thumbs, and time.
It always comes down to time.

Part of me says I have acres. The other part says I have feet.

Maybe time tonight should be spent in - cozy, calm;
Tomorrow, the roar of time will be able to shake my body; rattle my brain.

It is 10.
I am tired.
But somewhat fearful I am not doing anything -
not living life to the fullest.

But then I ask, is what you plan for these next hours fulfilling?
Party, chat, toast,
brag, ****, boast.
A rip, a drag, a shot, at most.
And what is it to bring me?

A fire aflame, "I don't know your names.
Who are you? Why us?"

God, **** this game.

Will it be expected,
my time to be held in their hands?

Or can it be rejected with the hope that time expands?

What are more moments,
How should they be spent?

How and why when I close my eyes does life seem so bent:
Twisted, obscure, impractically hidden.

What truth is there when no words forbidden?

What time can be lost in this truth
What can be erased?

How can everything be proof
When all I do is escape?

And last of all the questions, the last to remain,
The impossible,
irresistible
refrain:
What point is there in questioning if all remains unchanged?