The hours start repeating themselves
Like the hands of the clock moving the same circular path
The only thing differentiating each hour
are the numbers we read
Just the page numbers of story of our day to day life
A 24 page book with the same ending up until we die
Days and weeks turn into months with no change but the seasons
The calendar is just a piece of paper,
Leading you to think your life is full of importance
While your mind is numb to the thought of your dull life
I sit awake hoping that it will never be me
That I will find myself never in just one place
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2 comments:
It's hard to escape fate.
All lives are dull. Just ask the people who live them.
A dull life is only result of the dull observer, make each object a spark, transform it how you want it. Dullness doesn't really mean anything...
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