What is time anyway?
Just a concept of life that we live by,
a series of numbers, counting down,
limiting our time together, our time apart,
a string of numbers that we will all
live and die by.
But what would happen if I said,
Screw you and your time,
and lived by my own set of numbers?
At the end of my night, with a glass
of whiskey nestled warm in my hands
I wouldn’t sit there and measure my life, love
or happiness in a matter of numbers.
No, perhaps it is just me, that I fear
becoming a walking suit, a mindless numerically
driven droid chasing after this American Dream.
What a nightmare.
No, I’m still a dreamer,
where I am more fascinated by the
colors and words in life, not these
insignificant, dreadful numbers.
These numerical monsters ripped us apart once,
and I won’t let that happen again.
So stop looking at the clock for a day,
surround yourself with love, beauty,
even darkness, let it swallow you whole.
Measure your life in smiles, kisses, hugs,
heart breaks, scars and struggles.
Whatever you do, mark my words:
I will never let those goddamn ticking hands
take you away from me again.