Sometimes I look around at the aging people, at the ticking clocks, at the draining batteries, at the rusting metal
And I know my future
But when asked what I’m feeling with my fingertips, asked what I taste on my tongue, asked what I smell, asked how hard I’m breathing
I only ever know what’s distracting me
I only ever know the pain of repetition
What place do I hold in the present?
Only time will tell.