Shaky Days

It's that time of day again
I don't know what to do with myself
My face hot and tired,
I haven't even tried to find a mirror
I hate what I see and touch
If only I could
stay intact, exact,
and always shine with the beams of light.
Instead,
I'm sitting waiting for this day to be over
waiting for the slow clock to tell me
I'm tired,
tired of time,
wasting time, making time.
If only I could skip through the endless
mindless chatter and cheerless habits
I want to skip life all together.
Trying hard all this time to be real to myself,
one action, one distraction,
then from dusk till dawn I lost it all.
I don't know who I am anymore
who and where do I belong
why and when should I repair the mess I've made?

I still crave our charming discussions
why everything we do is so unreal,
why we understand what we shouldn't,
why we always want what we cannot have
maybe we have a taste for destruction,
taking risks, and fucking caution.