How can I think so much in just 20 minutes,

yet accomplish so little in any given day?

 

The one constant I assumed I had in life,

the speed at which time passed by,

now pushing and pulling like the tides.

 

If I believe my textbook,

and this must all be perception,

all I am left to believe in is my own insanity.

 

If this is somehow real, or something close to

then my sense of reality must be falling apart.

And I’m about to learn what insanity really means.

 

As if the constant echo of my own thoughts

wasn't enough to do that already.

 

What am I to take, from the phenomena?

that many of us use music,

what should bring us together,

to escape our own minds.

to escape our own thoughts.

 

How else am I to understand?

this insistence on constant, instant gratification,

other than through the frame of my own existence.

To see a world, full of wounded tigers

begging for help,

but only specifically how they want it.

And who maul any who try otherwise.

insisting

On putting band-aids on battle scars

and packing their bullet holes with mud