Whirring

There’s that sound again,
The constant whirring through the blinds,
The wind that blows as it always does,
Damn Wellington’s winter façade,
That hides summer in some distant memory.
The grey day that only weighs it all down,
Another click of the keyboard,
While silence reigns,
In ridiculous hum of someone else’s head phones.
Is that it then,
Procrastination leads nothing nowhere,
Yet leads everyone else where.
The days seem to pass,
Dreary and grey,
Forever the same old shit,
That just keeps rolling downhill.
What does it mean,
or are we all now irrelevant,
unneeded now that the pockets are lined,
and the words are no longer ours.
Where we knock on the doors,
Life just passes us,
Next not one will be left,
To fill those voids they had always wanted.
The constant whirring of the damn blinds,
The wind that howls,
As the click clack of someone’s lunchbox shuts,
As the smell of fish raises and is no longer contained.
Where focus fails,
and motivation finds itself far removed,
do these days feel like they never end,
and this ‘normie’ existence may just be killing me.