Sat in the mindless clock that pushes my time away like
an unwelcome lover in the tangle of soiled bed sheets;
I reflect on my ever changing disappointment.
It moves and morphs from one area of distress to another,
but although its different,
it's still a disappointment.
And thinking has become a luxury, that
pays for nothing and accomplishes very little,
yet the only luxury I have.
Would I rather be without thought? A mechanism of action,
dead behind the eyes and ignorant
of this programmed torment that is average life?
are my thoughts keeping me sane?
or driving me slowly mad?
thoughts remind me of what isn't.
they also offer the smallest escape
into a world where hope hasn't yet given up
...and packed his bags.
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