While depth is added to my humanity, my individuality withers.

The parts of life I despise most, are just mirrors.

Our politicians only repeat what we yearn to hear.

Man correctly imagined the economy, then incorrectly imagined he could steer.

I guess, pandora boxes were never designed to be closed.

How could we with 8 billion? humans can’t be controlled.

To hate the music is to hate the consumers I love so dearly.

To run from technology is to flee from those I want near me.

I love people, breath, and life. I hate how we do It.

We all in stand in front of a mirror, unable to see through It.

Jiggling the key in her normal routine, his wife opened the door to see his pen resting on the pad, his tea complete with every sip.

Not a word on the pad. A sign, firm evidence, a symptom, confirming a poet is missed.

Absence of words are greater than absence of man, is a poet truly living if he doesn’t write?

The woman stood still processing the sight, gaining a roommate having lost her husband that night.