still waiting

I always wondered where Tequila went
but I don’t blame her for disappearing
I wouldn’t want to hang around that old musty youth room
any longer than I needed to

I’m always interrupted by something
whenever I try to spill words out onto a page
this train of thoughts will always be derailed
why do I write like this?

the sands of time keep marching on
through the skinny hole in the hourglass
counting down my time until I blow away
the wind won’t be impressed with this one

sometimes I find my fingers typing
words that I didn’t intend them to
they want to be free to type what they want
just five more years

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