Five thirty seven am on a 29th of March
On the Year of twenty fifteen, on the hot breeze
Left with lunatic schemes not as usual
But as often as the summer comes
But not as permanent as the street love
Cornered with nothingness hoping for Zeus.

Why are we feeling this
Is it really existing or
Are we just being selfish
To come to think that the pain is ours
Or are we really not aware that there's more to life
Than just grasping the realms of pain
Eventhough it is just a natural phenomena
Are we just craving for the wrong things
Or are we just being blinded by this unworthy delusions