as is

[alice_sometimes]

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I feel like I'm a thousand years old
I can't tell my right from my wrong
I know either too much or nothing
All thoughts seem like I've already thought them
All thoughts seem like they're somebody else's

The wind in the darkness behind my open balcony
Is so real
Is so cinematographical
I don't know if I'm too good or too bad
Both ways it's sick
And I don't feel the middle
Is the middle in the middle?
Or is it a step aside? Some side
Some step. Away.

Money
Money is funny business
Unclear
Disturbing
Both when absent and present

I'm one of billions
I'm one
Finite
Restless
Thirsty
Thirty -
Yet,
Already

It's May
And it won't stop
Not for a second
Neither May, nor June, nor any others
will ever stop
And I will
Or won't I?
Or will they?