A month stares me face to face, heavy, deep and rushed in pace.

"Reality approaches," The people say.

"What are your plans," But Dare I say? Lost. Confused.

Unable to choose. College the focus, but how much will I lose?

Loan is the chain that eludes me now, until I've graduated

and freedom eludes me. How? Shackled and chained by loans, I'll be. If I stride for pristegious and not oboslete. I scratch and I cry and I weep without sleep, until neurons pull trigger, now lifeless and meek. Do I comform for the green, or talk loans with the dean? The idea of college brings nothing but spleen. I'm lost. I'm found. Troubled at whole. "Wait 8 years and life will unfold," Words told from the old, the non-bold and perhaps even the cold. Happiness comes when my youth abandons me? Is eight the number that'll bring back my sanity? Left and right, I'm tugged, yet not so linear. I'm found. I'm lost, watching the hourglass grow skinnier.