Upon the usefulness of time

I would be better
changing the bed linen.
Days roll by ,
disgorging themselves
shamelessly, uselessly,
as though tomorrows
always arrive, unbidden.
Such abundance!
Hours pile on top of one another,
playfully, seconds flinging themselves
kamikaze-like,
and- gone. I am a user.
I kill time, as bakers swat flies,
I murder minutes , without a moment's
remorse.
I hate usefulness,
knowing that
it is myself i despise.
I know the sheets
need changing.