I ask who has cranked the earth to x1.25 speed,
like the videos I watch when I’m cramming for a test.
Am I living each day,
Or am I wiping it away? But tell me where the dust disappears.
Time isn’t flying, but instead it distorts,
and engulfs me in misery, hope, maturity, and foolishness,
all at once.
In the zone, but agitated. My mind is running, sprinting laps inside me.
Eating something away that I didn’t know was there, and will never.
I’m too patient for everything,
except for telling my story,
as I know it isn’t near finished,
but how it ends is what I want to determine now.
Like all the conversations I yearn to have with someone else, other than myself,
I repeat them, staying sane, but wanting to implode.
Neither tragedy, nor love story,
Though right now, it’s been nothing but a mystery.
It’s 7:59 am.
I heard a voice, so touchingly deep,
It is a dark blue ocean in the world of sound.
It reminds me of how I had time to wander, in a place as spacious and restful as it.
A child I will never be again,
the one who ran around the halls of a school, putting up posters,
selling candy canes to younger, innocent children.
The one who could enjoy the feeling of relief for so long and so soon.
At that time, it was adventure indeed.
But whoever chose to trap me in x1.25 speed,
I hope they will know to reunite my story with that adventure once again.
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