Just Another Mess

I have an idea of a future
That I keep inside my pocket
For daily consumption
Whenever I’m out of bed

Words fly by my head
Reality passing by like cars on the street
Just another mess
But I’ve got a never ending supply of dreams

Billions and trillions of minutes
A game being played by the players
Hundreds of notes in rhythms
A song being created by the composers
Scratches of words on papers
A story being written by the writers
Colors sprout from the darkness
A picture painted by the painters

Our thoughts possess weight
Constantly delivered here and there
An enormous network running race
Zoom in and you’ll find me on my bed

Waking up to another morning
Just another mess
Entertaining myself with dreams
Running race on my own hell