It hit me suddenly that I had seen this room in a dream,
The concerning part being that I can't remember the nature of it or how it ended.

Was the crowd overtaken by pandemonium,
Or was my past spilling out into the future
Realizing that time was in fact not air tight?

Maybe some deity miscalculated my timeline...
Who can know for sure,
Yet I know how to navigate the gray tints of the room with not one moment of needed adjustment.

///

I never wanted to be back in the grind.

Routine wears at the creative mind like a weathered rock,
Rendered beyond repair.

It's ****** up if you think about it:

Wake up,
Slaves to the system sharpening the axe of the upper class,
Go to sleep,
Repeat,
Die.

And somehow, that's the accepted way of things.

We're perfectly okay with our fate
As long as we remain distracted.