twenty two, twenty three, twenty four
hours in a day
like the white rabbit,
we watch time and stay at the bay.
ten, eight, six, four
words like ‘it’s not good enough,’
or maybe just simple and badly-woven adjectives,
sometimes it makes us feel blue.
thirty, sixty two, countless
nights spent dreaming with open eyes
but all that comes are unkind;
worse than reality’s piercing swords of ice.
yellow, red, blue, nonexistent.
what we know is counting down
to the day the string snaps
the insides spilled; to everyone, its uglies shown.
three, nine, twenty seven
years spent as busy as a cat on a hot tin roof;
the forgotten summers fell into piles of ashes,
yet to our bars of efforts, everyone stays aloof.
one too many times
it happens.
one too many days we thought
**** it up.
(so we did.)
six,five, four
ages we were taught numbers and their orders.
nowadays, **** it up and
count sheep throughout math.
reposted from my blog, one of my recent favorite pieces honestly.
