A Poem With No Titles Written AS I Continue Down The Page With No Prior Planning

It is Friday night. It is 2009. I am 17.
I spend my evening with friends but really alone smoking cigarettes outside of a starbucks which closed 2 hours ago.
It is Saturday night. It is 2007. I am 15.
I spend my evening at a girl's home hoping for a kiss. Because a simple kiss is all I desire.
It is Sunday night. It is 2001. I am 10.
I go to church with my family then spend my evening at home watching TV. But I was content with this.
It is Friday night. It is 2009. I am 17.
I am alone. Outside the same empty starbucks. Trading answerless phone calls with girls who seem to just not care. I spend the night trying to get in between legs of a woman.
It is Wednesay night. It is 1991. I am 2 minutes ago.
I spend my night leaving from between the legs of woman.
It is Saturday night. I am 15.
Kisses are now a regular thing. I am content.
It is Sunday night. I am 10.
I watch TV and do homework. I am content.
It is again Friday night. I am still 17.
I smoke cigarettes for comfort. I have lost my content with the world.
Time changes thing.
Time contorts things.
I used to be content.
I used to be so bright,
so naive,
such a joy to my mother.
It is 2009.
I am 17.
What happened?