She was lust in the morning
     and art by nightfall

Where she whispered halfway moans
     of words plagiarized off the wall

Some little death
Some ironic typography
     reinventing fate
    
Manifesting her destiny
     In stutters
     she gaits

A soul tripped out of the dream machinery

Now she's standing naked
     In the door way

The threshold
     between mundane and fantasy

Staring down the destiny
     about me

She asks me
     to follow her bliss

Her skin heralds the call
     to my hands around her neck

She wants to be
     bruised
     So Gracefully

Pulling her hair back
     dragged
     in and out of dreams

Time isn't wasted at the end of the day
When you're in bed thinking about all the things
You could've done,
You could've said,
All the empty boxes left on your to do list

Time is wasted
When you're standing on a rock at the edge of a waterhole
And decide to not jump
When you're sitting in your car trying to justify reasons
For not going in
When you anxiously hit backspace
Instead of expressing how you truly feel
When you ignore your heart that's screaming
"You deserve better."

It's lost in I could have and I should have,
In missed opportunities,
In letting fears override judgement

Time is not necessarily wasted
In passing minutes, months, years
We waste time by
Counting seconds,
And by letting seconds pass
When we could've made
Those seconds count