Time will tell what life this is,
Juggling these on the precipice,
What taunts and gains will shape our face,
Will fill our souls, or rot the space.
Life is a bloc of failures and haircuts,
Of laughing and crying, learning and dieing,
Of apartments or houses, of cats or of spouses,
Life is singing alone.
We are defined by duties and dates,
Priced by contacts or self laxed,
Given scenes and poses, but pulling drapes exposes,
The tangles of hair in sink.