Humanity is starting to bore me.
Life is getting old.
Who thought I'd be tired before thirty-three?
Half past six has never tolled
an hour when I finally see,
how much time I waste in cold, linear type.

So I keep thinking, I may as well,
reorganize the words that start to sell,
the strangeness inside my brain,
which doesn't matter and doesn't gain...
a dollar, or a smile, or a sideways glance
I do it just because I can chance

the opportunity on a roulette wheel
that another person just might feel
something real and understand- life isn't always what you plan.