Crowded Days

The calendar hangs, a tapestry of tasks,

Each box filled with obligations, no room for the asks.

Plans piled like laundry, a mountain of cares,

I drown in the ink, while my spirit despairs.

Days slip through fingers like sand in a glass,

Rushing through moments, each one comes to pass.

I glance at the future, it looms like a weight,

A crowd of commitments, I long to escape.