Illusion
I guess when I’m sad
I get stuck
I waste time thinking like a sitting duck
Then I quickly and effortlessly get everything done, plus one
Perfection is still a mystery of illusion
I hold as mine
It's an exhausting cycle that I have been on I'm working around old ways and old ought's
I ought to be working 9-5 at a desk
Slaving away for nickels and dimes until my retired breath
No, you worked your behind off
to be away from the loud crowds
Yet somehow you manage to make something out of nothing, with everything you have
I mean, wow
Yes, losing time thinking of lost time
And what to do with upcoming time
Just thinking
Then Reacting in the nick of time
Insanity
I say psycho when you ask me to describe my insides
But don't ask me
As I have mentioned
I already overthink so clearly just assume
When I am distant it's not you it's me
I am thinking about the countless absences I have been present but missing
An award for 100% attendance of self
Still cannot be awarded to me
Still missing days here and there
But that's progress from this time
Last year
I'm working on all my parts
Still
The thoughts will come
And they won't stop until
My brain decides
it's time to power off
I don't know when that will be
I just know when I'm sad and alone
I get stuck
With hundreds of thoughts keeping me company
Forcing me to think each thought to its complete
Trying to be perfect
Will remain a mystery of illusion to me
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