In a room where books pile high,
Echoes of dreams refuse to die.
A restless mind, a weary soul,
At twenty-four, still chasing a goal.
Through the window, the world spins fast,
A blur of futures, a ghost of past.
The sun dips low, the sky turns red,
Yet here I sit, lost in my head.
Lines of code and circuits bright,
Mock me softly in the dimming light.
A degree framed, but dust collects,
On promises life won’t protect.
I reach for a cigarette, pause mid-air,
What would it change? Who would care?
The smoke might dance, the ember glow,
But answers? No, they never show.
Dreams cost time, and time runs thin,
A battle fought but hard to win.
Yet somewhere deep, a spark remains,
A quiet fire, defying chains.
So I let the match slip from my hand,
Breathe in deep, and make a stand.
Not today, I tell the night—
Not today, I'll lose this fight.
