A MAD INDIVIDUAL (BUILD POETRY)

A mad individual

I sit down alone,
Within myself having debates about feelings
Of once was, and what’s yet to be written.
As if my life was a story being wrote by a strange
Unknown author.

You are so nice and kind heart some people would say.
Still if I was to agree with you I would be lying.
Of course I mean well at times but time is of the essence,
Fragile, and destroyed. Wasted all at the same time.

See there’s that time word again, sneaking in only to remind me that it’s still there.
Could it be that im destined to grow old only to bow out to time?
To wither away without any kind of fuss.

I need more time, I don’t have the time, how much time does it take, 3 minutes or until well done the box says, by the why what time is it.
Forty minutes past sane, a quarter past reasoning.

Tic TOK, that’s all im hearing lately.
The sound of a dam clock ringing my ears.
Where’s my truth now, when I need it the most?

anthony r. barber jr