This life I was given
Has caused me nothing
But sorrow and grief
And that’s why I can’t
Possibly wrap my mind
Around the fact
That life is a beautiful thing
When nothing beautiful
Ever happens to me

I’m running out of places
To hide from myself

Time used to breathe, like us.
But then we turned it into sand
we turned it into a commodity,
something that can be spent, wasted, served
We shackle our wrists with it.

I wish sometimes that we can go back
to a time where time just is
where you can 'waste' a day
doing whatever makes you happy
and not feel ashamed.