Letting go

Summer is the tip
Of a year of work and satisfaction.
A long slide is now ahead
And my hair waiting to fly.
Time sticks to my hands
And I long into it for too long
Its forgotten faces,
the I will never talk to you again,
The let’s hold hands and let’s forget
Make the wrinkles of my young palms.

Postponed stress

Fascinated by the job,

Addicted to the visuals.

I enter the loop and get lost

In my mental starry sky.

At the desk I can travel,

Learn insane details,

Join futuristic communities

And nobody notices

I am absent,

Yet still sitting.

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