over and over again
i repeat the routine
put before me.
time becomes a matter of habit.
i look around me
hard.
grasp hints of reminiscences
i once called mine.
ade. said, "you like colours."
now, i drape in greys and blacks.
a full time job drains me of colours.
my feet bound in uncomfortable wraps
attempting to appear 'real' and 'proper'.
who wrote those rules anyway.
my ears are numb now and
i cannot hear your criticism anymore.
i don't care anymore....
