And I stuff my face with food. All this material that will
be wasted once I'm dead.
And coming of age has made you lose your mind. It was left
behind in some deserted allay.
Now it's just the shadows of your thoughts trying to out
shine current events.
Mixing real with imaginary, causing a blend like no other, a
universe of just yourself.
And on go the years, minute after minute, can't count them
one by one, they have become like floating bubbles.
You try to catch them before they disappear into the ground,
untouchable without a shape.