I know you're approximately
thirteen hundred miles away
but I can't keep quiet anymore

there is something about the way
your hair curls at your neck
when you're two weeks past needing it cut

I know your hands are ***** and rough
but they would feel so perfect
wrapped with mine

your laugh can change my darkest days
into little rays of sun and
the way you make me feel
is second to none

there are many ways to say it
and many way for you to see
I guess the easiest way is
stop wasting your time not loving me.

I'm tired of waiting & letting life pass me by like a busy street with a neon road sign
I don't want to waste another day
Because these foolish infantile games are getting harder to play
No more sitting in front of the screen
I'll be working on my goals, if you know what I mean
Life's not a game for the weak or the sad
If you think of it that way, you'll end just as bad
So tonight I make my plans to start anew
(But who knows, by the time morning comes they may have fallen through)

I just want to know if I'm wasting my time
on some ideals that don't exist outside my head;
to trust it will grow after tasting and climb,
maybe heals moving forward instead.

my eyes
they are starting to get
drowsy

my mouth
it's starting to create  
a deep inhaling
of exhaustion

my body
starts to ache
as I lack
the sleep I think I deserve

In this world
Full of mundane and extraordinary things
There are so much to see
But so little time

I keep wasting my time
Thinking and planning about what I should do
Instead of just doing it
Instead of actually living

Somewhere in a sea of confusion
And things I have to do
I forgot to be alive
And ended up unhappy

And I know, I know
You tried so hard
To make me feel alive
To remind me to live

And there were so many voices
Telling me where to go
And I forgot to listen to yours
I ended up shutting you out

And I didn't want to, I didn't want to
I wanted so much to show you
That I love you too
And I couldn't, I couldn't

I need the money
but I am not a slave to a master.
In this capitalist world were thriving
needs the illusion of paper worth,
were the jungle has segregated itself
between social life or work,
living or spending
where we follow the bell and expect
a lunch break,
where paying for a life I had no say in
is the law
and we are seen as robots to a mechanism.

A working class in which I am but a replaceable
machine gone awry over years of misuse
and
my life is compiled over minimum wage for
paychecks
where times is anything but gold.
A society in which working for retirement is
somehow starting early,
where youth is wasted and rusted by gears of a watch.

Call me a starving artist because-
the art of my life is but the aesthetics of my mind,
because I won't invest my time for the ownership of your profit,
because living is not experiencing the wonders of
a world in where success is equivalent to currency.

Call me human because I am,
free and spending my life but not to mere pennies of your system.

On a cold, wet night, I wander through the city streets. I walk by the buildings whose lights illuminate me, only briefly, until I pass them and am thrown into the darkness again before I realise it.
             It reminds me of my life: The buildings are my days; they pass without incident or delay and then the night comes stealing away my time.
                               The reoccuring alleyways are my weekends; I want to just run down them, laughing, splashing in the puddles, climbing the fence and jumping off. Discovering new things and adventuring...
                   And then I realise, I'm no longer a child; It's too late for my life to happen... I've blown it off, going to school, college, getting a job, working hours on end. I've wasted my life trying to get a life. Even the holidays are just other days now. And then I go to bed, exhausted, with nothing to look forward to, but doing it again tomorrow...
                The alleyway ends... and the lights from the buildings illuminate me, again...