The ceiling does not change under
The pressures of human time,
The hours do nothing to make the dull exciting,
Or to change this feeling into something real.

Reality starts to bend under the monotony
And I suddenly begin to see the fabrics of it all
And where they have all been layered
But never properly stitched together.

Or maybe I see patterns where none exist,
A guilty pass time for a trained mind
Always forced to quantify the unexplainable
For money or for grades.

It doesn’t have to be true,
It just has to sound true.