Its what I feel at midnight, no more mind left and no more time. Tomorrow perhaps, only to find there was an imbecile 500 years ago that did it all already. Well, we're all fools, and walking shadows. We're slaves, because we only sleep 7 hours a night and we can't recall a **** conversation when the entirety of humanity depends on it, and we can't spell because we have mental defects. No more patterns, no more sighing, no more acting! The world really is a ****** stage. Can love save us, can work ethic, can anyone save anyone from their manically depressed reality? There's no flame left in the sun, the only thing that is unbearable is that nothing is unbearable. Everything fits into place, no brain is worth bleeding for. They destroy poetry because they don't like it, because no one can understand it, but I can understand it and I want integrity not a herd of sheep. Our death is determined by a quarter inch piece of plastic.