Billions of tiny dots paint the picture in front of me,
but does it truly paint the picture clearly.
Hours, days, weeks go by in a moment’s time,
under the guise of my needing to stop and unwind.
“Where have the days gone and why do I feel so unproductive?”my humble thoughts cry.
“It went to that talking box in your bedroom,”my conscious shouts, “where all dreams go to die.”