i hate morning broken with the stink of socks. when my idyllic view of the world becomes troubled by the sheer weight of doom. as the whole life shrinks down to a spot on my finger. i get drawn to the mood of despair, with no memory behind and no hope ahead. What a dread, to feel that way. Like i was dystopian all night and turn blue by the dawn. ***** you blue sky, ***** you blue moon and **** the politics, that brings me gloom.