This room is bright;
Magnolia and whitewash
And economy bulb-light
Illuminate paper and pens and calloused hands.
The idea that this is
Learning
Appears in my mind
With a sudden futility

I sit with my chin cradled in my palm
I do not know, I say.
I do not know what makes the world spin
Or the seasons change.
For none of it matters, in the end.
Seconds spill through the fingers of the universe's greatest thief.
He has stolen lives since the start of everything, they say.
They say that before his birth, there were no lives.
Or deaths, even.

I think of every second that I have lost
To childish existentialism;
Of the seconds lost since the start of this
Stupid
*******
Poem.
They say that I must bite my tongue and listen.
But time,
He bites it for me.