every day I do the usual
all the same
nothing unpredictable or exciting
yet I live each day,
without a purpose mostly,
in a place,
I cannot call it home.
the beginning of the week or day,
its a plan,
far planned by the people
I don't even have time for...
this mediocre, this clique,
I am trying not to live,
yet I continue to live,
with norms.
that unsatisfying plan,
which I have to follow, only
for the people and the amount,
which I don't seem to enjoy.
the restlessness and the urge to escape,
the relentless plan,
so far in vain
and it will be so.
everyday.