Retinues of scholars and sages,
United in ages of our personal cages.

Desire to eclipse our wages linked in our pages, but always looking our worth in numerical gauges.

Truly the painful retrospect quantified aroma that arousal the mind in spiral, and the very essense of black hole is true chaos in it's definition of creation in us.

As I stand to breathe for a moment, I look to see that it haven't even been started, and what little  composure that exist in me dissipated the foundation of a cup that cracked.

Gaspe to grasp that it is ticking, and the sensation of lagging is more apparent with each passing day.

Maybe if I close my eyes, maybe I can rejuvenate to start again, or wake from this dream.