Tonight I was checking my old poems and I've found this one, so I decided to post it and share it with you guys.
(Photo by @davidfar)
-But it was true-
Time is the matter
melting our youth
When we're dreaming
About a future goal
Clock hands are moving
Programmed by sun
We're born wounded
And It slowly grows
Why the pressure?
Why depression?
When it is a show
And death comes close
I know you're drunk
Like we always do
But once you see the end
You're already gone
Regards,