musings of a flighty teenager

missteps.

with the early morning blares of an annoying, alarming song,
to the taste of veritable death in the mouth from snoozing soundly all night long,
to rubbing the sleep from your puffy, tender, half-closed eyes,
waking up is a duty with which we all compromise.
little things like this define the start of our day--these habits from which we seemingly never stray--get lost in the wake of time's inevitable sway.
time is a dance where you can never correct a mistake.
every move that you make has a toll that it takes.
in this dance, hips swing like a pendulum, lacing our lives with lust, until we step on some toes and make our partners lose trust
in what we say as we sway with the beat of time's sultry and steady pulse.
as you hit that snooze button, who comes to your mind, if anyone, in the gears of your brain, as they grind
with the hopelessly  rusty mechanisms of love
that for you always seem to catch and shift and tug.
how cold is your heart that you no longer taste them in your mouth?
did you dream of them, or are your thoughts filled with doubt?
time is eating away at this love, my friend.
the sleep in your eyes sticks with the tears that cannot mend your broken spirit.
the void calls out to you, but you cannot hear it.
you're stuck here, immobile,
in the wretched sands of time
through which the grains all whisper
of your elementary mistakes
and the steps of the dance no longer differ
as your chest visibly quakes.