I can’t imagine that I’ll see the world passing.
I’ll rip apart my soul, just to try to stand still.
Sell the pieces to my beloved, however much worth they have.
I can’t see the present, but I remember it happening.
The way it goes is so set in stone, and you only tear it down when your trips over.
I hope to see old age, but it’s pure luck and fantasy to be fooled into believing you’ll have something more than memories.
21 seems so old, and I’m already growing cold.
I wake at night wondering if it’s better to stay asleep my whole life.
Dreaming memories of hanging strings of light.
Yesterdays years behind you before today is over.
Somethings pulling me along, but I can’t see it yet.
It’s hidden by the living.
My words aren’t yet profound, my age not yet respected.
Put down in haste in the mornings and nights, these are what I leave the world.
Strings of lights holding together my words and memories.
A chain that never ends.
I can see the present, but it’s so fuzzy.
I hope to see it better as I crawl along.