It's time again.
Misplaced... like time has dropped a minute and left you out of fase.
Running, with a haunted feeling as though you must keep up with the world.
The chair is biting your ass and you can't sit still.
Like a coffee overkill, switching your mind to Cornholio-mode, the great.
Itching behind your eyes, pointless but what to do with it?
Maybe writing it into a poem might solve it.
Ah, much better...
18/07/04
