At the end of the day,
There is no room for sadness.
Keeping busy
Is just a distraction.
From self-worth to distraught
In a matter of hours
Reality is conceptualized
In a temporary manner.
No reason to trust,
No reason not to
My relationship with myself
Is in another realm completely.
Things quickly build up
Then quickly fall apart
Only to repeat again and again.
I think I am strong,
I’m better than that
But I’ll only have to pretend.
At the end of the day,
Is the only room there is for sadness.
And in the morning too.
But the morning always seems to feel
Like the end of the last day.
I’m waiting for it to feel new.
The day is kept busy,
It’s worthwhile, fresh.
It passes by quickly,
But its length is deceiving.
Flowing in and out of realms of thought
In many states of mind completely
Doesn’t seem like it all could be felt in a day,
Never sure which will last
Yet I most certainly do not want to know.
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