Street Fighting Man

The bell sounds as another lifeless moment of my life passes before me like a leaf blowing in the wind. The moment is caught in a whirlwind. It circles and circles. It never goes forward. I do not go forward. I do not go forward willingly. I am shuffled along as a dust speck on a giant broom. I only shuffle and stumble forward. I've stumbled out of the blocks on a race to death. I race the clock. The clock is winning. I am empty. I am alone. The breezes can blow me away. I am nothing. I am lost.
In a lecture on my future, I shift in my seat restlessly. I lean away timidly. I am scared of my own future. I am scared of the changes that await me. I am scared of the changes that await me tomorrow. Tomorrow is not a preverbial tomorrow. Tomorrow is tomorrow, the day after today. I am scared for my life. My life has more focus on my Netflix queue list than my future on this planet, in my body, in my soul.
I don't want a future. I don't want a job. I don't want a career. I don't want responsibilty. I just want to live.