Every phase of my life
is in preperation for the next;
work as far as the eye can see,
and the bam - eternal rest.

Those A-B-C colouring books
turn to essays, then to files
of documents - but in the end,
it all gets burnt, pile after pile.

And I don't see the point. I'm wasting my time.
I'm breaking my back and I'm bored and I'm tired,
and what for? More of the same, but worse?
Why?

Is this how I must live?
Wasting paper and filling up books
with prepation for more of the same?

No.
There must be a way to break
out of the cycle - and I'll take
every risk, and run through every open door
to do it.