When did the caged bird forget to smile?

If there was a corresponding equation for everyone, then mine would be a perfect linear equation. However many numbers and variables it has will not make a difference as it will always, always end up being a graph of a straight line, nothing more, nothing less. Everyday will be the same and there won't be any significant change. This life will go on straight and I don't have a say on it.


It will be just that for the rest of my life. It will be the passing of an inconsequential life.

I am living for the weekends. By weekends, I really just mean Friday evenings and Saturdays. Those days are the days that are mine. Those are the days that I can pretend to live in my world, and sometimes I can do it so well I can almost convince myself. But I'm a liar and Sunday always comes, and with the birth of a new week is the death of a liar's pitiful dream.

I wonder if liars really do dream. For having a liar dream sounds almost like a paradox because with dreams comes the fervent hope that these were true. Then again, it stops being a paradox when you really think about it. After all, a good liar believes in the presence of a truth and crafts the lies on the borders of this truth, and a dream is nothing but a deception of a pathetic mind.

But of course I'm only talking in metaphors, words that don't have much meaning and are only just pretensions. And if you sum up my life, that's what you get. One big pretention hiding behind a mask of relevance.