Those stolen days,
Of driving into slavery and laboring my mind and
soul away,
In between lines and lines of empty spaces,
Amongst frozen cubicles of dying dreams and
meaningless pursues.
Those stolen days,
Of meeting random faces and having languid
conversations,
In between free flowing caffeine and nicotine,
Amongst an ocean of banal bodies that yearns for
more.
Those stolen days,
Of living up to relentless expectations and empty
discussions,
In between fool’s errands and inane remarks,
Amongst nothing but another day of not really
living.
Those stolen days.
Those stolen days of mine.
If all those days could be refunded with the wealth
I’ve gathered.
Will I ever be able to relive it without a single
regret?
