Time.
I never have time.
I never have enough.
I'm running out.

I'm always rushing.
I'm always wasting.

Are you busy next weekend?
Are you doing anything right now?
Do you have time to grab a coffee?

I'm busy, sorry.
I don't have time.
Maybe another time?

I hate time.
No.
I hate society for time.
No.
I hate society for stealing mine.

i know i ain't worth it
but its too late for u to quit

i am feeling really scared
as ur love for me starts to fade

i dont want to loose u
coz a life with u was all i knew

i only asked u for ur time
thats all i needed to say ur mine

all i can see now is only darkness
cos loosing u is my only weakness

i cannot live another day
not with u staying away

i know i dont deserve ur love
but thats all is keeping me breathing now

please come back and stay with me
ur love and time is all i need

does growing up
ever hurt for you?
because for me,
it did.
i wasn't really quite prepared
for losing my shell
losing that child-like innocence ,
and losing .
but i did.
and i did it unrelentingly.
Then i lost enough to make a sea.

In that sea of everything you lost
you see yourself bobbing
on the waves.
gasping for air.
it doesn't come.
and in the sea of things you've lost,
saltwater will fill your lungs
until the sea becomes you.

You purport that you
are always right
with verbiage, loud
designed to confuse
fomenting exasperation
with this constant fight
and sisyphean failure
to change your views.

Please drown with me my love. Tonight we sit once more along the concrete left from undocking tin boats, where the lapping waves fill in the painful silences. Please drown with me, together holding each other for the last time as we are swallowed by the black. Whether it your uncertain love or the freezing water, either way I can’t seem to breathe. Please my love, drown with me tonight.
So I can’t feel you leave tomorrow.

The point of view
Is that it is pointed at you
of which your perspective is askewed
They will point to their point of view
demand that you start anew
Muddy the waters till it looks like a stew
murky and obtuse
gory and smelling of refuse
Lacking scenery the perfect image of destitute.
No refuge just excuse
one right after another
Soon all the words come together
Musty dusty and covered in leather
it all changes right before your eyes
now it looks right because your thruth started to die
now your whole life is just a big ole lie
That is the whole point of this
Your point of view
Is pointed at you
Now they are all the same
Your point of view is a point of view
It just isn't the same