chaos lives within everyone

sometimes I don’t miss anybody
sometimes I miss too much
too many

sometimes I don’t need anything
some other times I am desperate
in need

sometimes I am the party
sometimes I am nothing
and need to sleep

sometimes I speed
sometimes I crawl
or lie

sometimes I tell the truth
sometimes I don’t
know

most of the time

I think my days are too short
because I don’t wanna count
the hours

sometimes I count the hours
and they are as long as fuck
lengths to run

and my back hurts
and my head screams
quietly

I see the scythe
I see the cloak
but I don’t see the face
(or the soul)

is this all we are here for
or are we just waiting for
our shakespearian sunset?