Why do I obsess like I'm insane?

Is it because I am so strange?

Maybe my brain is wired wrong.

Or maybe I am not very strong.

Could it be that I get scared like I do?

Maybe it's the anxiety too.

Anxious and scared what a combination!

I can't even go to stupid celebrations.

Maybe my brain is wired wrong,

But maybe I just think for way too long.

People like to write about flowers.

Well, I could do that too.

Write more about flowers than all of you.

Flowers written in words, their beauty nothing more than a concept to marvel at. I think beauty is to be enjoyed with our eyes, staring at the lavish colors instead of reading some poem about escaping from a cluttered garden. Life is here to be lived, to be enjoyed and not seen as some selfish ploy of gods to make you feel misery through awful sensory. As I run through the fields, you run through your words, and this is not to say words and writing aren't good, but you need to know when to take off the hood of the cloak you hide in, life only explained through words and not lived through the experience of the world.

As I write, I realize this irony inside of me, writing about flowers and life as we know, just saying we should enjoy this world and reap what we sow.

As I wander, I ponder endlessly. Pondering what things could be. Thinking of my future, maybe even my past. Thinking of all the things that will never last. But upon these thoughts, the way I see, those things just were not meant for me. There is a reason for everything, and for everything there is a way. Sometimes, for a moment, you've just gotta stay. Life has it's way of taking you where you need to go, Maybe you don't know where, but surely life does. What if life doesn't know? Well I guess you'll have to wait for it to show. As you wander, as you ponder, the things that could've been, think about the things that could be.

Are you lonely? Does it ache into your bones? It brings lots of sorrow, but you reap what you sow. Do you push others away? Yet, you can't help but want them to stay? It feels cold and empty with no company, but we can't really help that, can we? Do you lose yourself in your own mind? Are you traveling through caverns that twist and wind? The mind is a strange place, making you think that others achievments means, they want a race. But all being said, all being done, you had your chance, to have your fun. Instead you grew bitter, but you also grew sweet. I guess we could call this a bittersweet tragedy? In the end you are alone, everyone pushed away, and you are cold to the bone. Your mind is a prison, one that repeats. You must carve your own path, it would be quite the feat. But in the end I'd like to know, are you lonely?

I sit at my desk, watching the time. Watching the clock, oh that wretched clock. Time feels slow as it goes past, minutes fade into hours, hours into days. Soon it all becomes a blur, the sound of the ticking engrained in my memory like a sour taste on my tongue. As I sit I wonder, is this really how life goes? is this how it all will end? days long gone, fading into the background of the gray scenery. As time passes with each tick of that wretched clock, I grow older. I grow weaker. But time must pass, we all must age, theres no denying the change of age. But in the scene of storm clouds and people growing more miserable with each passing day, there is a light. A light that leads you on to keep trying. To keep going. It urges us to follow it's winding path into tomorrow. But as the light fades into the darkness, we continue the same cycle. The cycle of life, The cycle that goes on and on until time itself is no more. When there are no more ticks, of that wretched clock.