No news now.
No news is good news, where I come from.
Where the news is spit from between the lips of so many sewed up mouths,
and everything comes with a lisp.
Every morning I wake up and it's Monday?
Who would have thought that school would be a drag?
We are all time travelers here.
Nothing goes by,
everything cycles,
and a week is a season long.
So all hail H.G. Wells the man has finally done it,
just not the way he expected.
Because while the time machine is always moving,
the moment never does.
Poetry? Really? I've got to stop doing this to myself.
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