In and out, in and out.
My mind wanders, and my thoughts shout.

In and out, in and out.
We fight the stress, anxiety, that life nefariously chews out.

In and out, in and out.
The breath can calm, and ignite serenity's droplets atop an arid drought.

In and out, in and out.
I refuse to clock-out, and will always shout, I know myself throughout.

Is maturity a thing,
as we wither old?

Do we really learn our lesson,
and finally do as we are told?

I do not.
I refuse.
I will be smart and taught,
yet gleefully confused.

Never content,
never sold.
Always enthused,
and always boozed.

Life can't be seen as seriously real,
as we are all just playing a living game.

We can pierce our own Achilles heel,
or stand tall to pronounce all you overcame.

Put you in my pocket and run away,
never again to see you as loose change.

Ill never let you go, thinking I can make it last,
not taking the time to contemplate my frivolous past.

Living in the moment materialism seems to sweet,
gasping for breath in between the debt-ridden tears.

Making new claims, but I eventually forget my newly instilled rate of exchange.

If only I knew how to make the perfect caste.

But certainly we won’t forget what happened in the past.