There has to be more to life
than the endless and mechanical
repetition of arbitrary patterns.
Something more
than the 6 to 8,
9 to 5,
6 to 10.
Something more than
waking up, dressing up,
going to school or work
and doing things you hate
every hour of every day
without even knowing why
and finding solace only in
the slow and predictable movement
of the hands of the clock,
which, much like you,
live in a perfect,
meaningless loop,
dancing mechanically in circles
to the miserable tune
of their soulless existence.
There has to be something more.