Sitting still,
Not doing a thing,
While passively letting my life slip by,
Watching the numbers grow, seasons change, all the while doing not a thing,
Not doing my hobbies, flexing my muscle or stimulating my brain,
Sitting, stagnant, worthless,
If donating my time is an indication of selflessness, then I am the greediest milionaire to purchase a golden toilet,
Although thinking about wasting time is a sound investment of my wealth,
Contemplating, and progressing my mind is always wise mental growth,
Writing in twisted ways, with wild and convoluted paths that even I can't devise an immediate end to,
Being open to obscure inferences, and constantly hoping to be an impressive, reverred writer, notably for my young age is an ironic way I want to spend my time before I grow old and then fully realize my dream of expression by the time I reach a certain age.
Oh how greatly I try to cherish my young age,
To do as I want and to make my time spent as a child count and increase my depth of knowledge
6.17.09
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