I suddenly remembered all my days up ’til now,
Riding within an airplane in flight, amidst a downpour.
Given a needle and thread, I wait for the sign to begin,
Then try to pass the thread through the needle’s hole — days like this process is on repeat. An ace.
I suddenly drew what my days will look like from here on out,
But it strayed in all directions, fluctuating violently — I feel like I’m gonna throw up!
Crying, clinging… dropping, picking up… everyone handles things differently.
Shaking hands… clouding vision… why do I only have 8 fingers?
Without killing anyone— without bumping shoulders with anyone—
Without bullying or being bullied— trying to keep from getting hit by cars.
Sickness, fires, accidents, earthquakes — while surviving each day by a hair’s breadth,
Still kind enough to never be deceived, but wise enough to not be hated for it.
We’re told to live, but IS THAT SO?!
Amid a delicate story that’s somewhat ambiguous and seemingly clear-cut…
I take meticulous care to not loose my footing… to not let it escape me…
Even if I tell you this, I expect it won’t mean a thing…
But one unexpected day, you’re gonna get pulled in just like me.
The smell of sadness sticks in my nostrils; I got up from my seat to try to wash it away.
I head for the toilet, but there’s already a line of other sufferers — a whole line of sobbers.
Those who give up and shut their eyes tight… those who fall to their knees and ask forgiveness…
Those who take a needle to their arms and carve the name of the one they love…
And those who watch with sidelong glances, cheering and clapping over their exploits.
It seems only those who are able to land, by successfully threading their needle, are able to keep living tomorrow.
With intention, but with modesty—
So we’re told to live, but IS THAT SO?!
Amid a sloppy story that seems to take place in the heavens, but is like a painting of Hell,
I could just leave one out, or run on through — quite the ultimate choice.
An individual who looks exactly like me sneaks over by the emergency exit.
Deliberately, slowly— he turns the handle— the restraints release— a chute opens up—
But turning away from all that— he can fall if he pleases— just let him do it— more importantly, I gotta thread my needle!
Amid a somewhat ambiguous, seemingly clear-cut, delicate story…
So as to not loose my footing… not let it escape me… I take the utmost care.
A seemingly comedic, tragic fate; cook it up any way you like!
You can stand on your tiptoes, or get angry— just aim for the highest marks!