The driftwood drifters
Clearing their way across the asphalt
Crackling bones as they make their way
In eternal pursuit of the undertow
The chains that bind them will be their nooses

The wretched have their way
With the shells of all what remains
The whispers and their lullabies
Drifting off to sleep

I hate the way I feel today
So full of clarity and calmness
The voices don’t distort anymore
My vision is in 1080p
And I hate it

I hate the balance
Between the movements of the frames,
I spit out my verses
In rapid successions
Like vintage foreign films
In black and white
Void of sound
Followed by cue cards
APPLAUSE

"The old dogs" as he liked calling them,
Never bothered to fit the molds of the societal standards
How am I any different from any of them?
Don’t we all resent the hollowness we harbor within us?

The replies come pouring in
It’s always the same
"You think too much
That's whay you're so miserable"
The chains that bind them
Will be their nooses

And I hate all of it.