Tomorrow will never come to be,
yesterday never came and went.
Now is so short itself can\'t be,
the view is distorted twisted bent.
Sound is a figment to hear,
imagination a feeling of alive,
no tomorrow, nothing to fear,
no memories will ever survive.
Nothing to look forward to,
nothing having been missed,
a twisted distorted view,
never being hugged or kissed.
What are we if we\'re not to be,
when time won\'t move forwards.
The moments we got to see,
no writing, no spoken words.
Thoughts of reality being a dot,
existing for just a moment sublime.
These mental avenues of thought,
we eliminate the point of time.