It's two eighteen. <br />And soon it will be two nineteen. <br />And then two twenty. <br />It's all very consistent, this passing of time. <br />I hate that about you. <br />But you, two eighteen, <br />Are one of my favorites. <br />You're that moment when you have to contemplate <br />Whether to call this morning or night, <br />And that's all i can ask for, really, <br />From a thing so predictable. <br />You, two eighteen, are a time for climbing out <br />Of my window with only a <br />Candle, a double shot of espresso, <br />And shitty poetry floating out of <br />My shitty mind. <br />In the time it's taken to write this down, <br />Nine minutes have passed. <br />And you're gone, two eighteen. <br />I do sometimes wonder where it is you go <br />After your sixty seconds of existence. <br />And maybe i miss you. <br />Or maybe i just miss shitty poetry and <br />Timeless rooftop rants. <br />But you left me, two eighteen. <br />And so, i suppose, <br />None of the rest <br />Really matters <br />In the end.<br /><br />Lady Hope<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/2-18-2/
