anyway

I keep thinking about how the timing seems false. How some days seem faster than my fucking pulse. And others go so slow. Like this morning Feels like a month ago. I feel like I’m underwater. There’s this building you pass On the subway to Queens. It’s on the L or the R or the one that’s green. It’s covered in tags, Bright hieroglyphics. These fifteen-year-olds – They’re so fucking prolific. I’m commuting, I’m eating my goddamn apple And they’re secretly painting their Sistine Chapel. But whatever, It’s like they know their odds. If you're gonna die young, You'd better live like gods.