Time is an unusual concept
Perspective I have yet to understand
Current washing us clean of everything
Seconds slipping through fingers like grains of sand

I knew for sure there was no guarantee
But what's the harm if I agree
For a few seconds
That what I see
Is more than just make believe

I don't know how I'll arrange funds.
Funds for the operation,
Funds for the serious surgery.

I can seek help from my parents.
But I am their ligation,
Both of them must be weary.

I wanna arrange the money by myself,
From my own PhD remuneration,
For the treatment & operation.

Or maybe from my novel sales,
If 100 more copies sell,
I can have enough money for surgery.

See if you can help me at all,
Its story is the best I can tell,
And poetry is its decoration.

It’s not every second of the day that I want to be bitter
And don’t say I’m not because I know I am, I admit it,
And it’s a colossal amount of seconds that I don’t care about being bitter,
But it isn’t all of them.
Not really.