I always feel gloomy every 5th of February
Must be the idea of growing old
In a fast-paced world
Seems like a never-ending questioning of
Sanity and morals and dignity and fate
Surrounded by whispers of longing
You just ask if there’s anything left
Or is it going to be like this forevermore
Unsatisfied, discontented, dissociated, distant
Unruly, unkempt, unsure
Knowing that it is nothing but another
Insignificant year of false hopes
Nothing but unread notes
Keeping in mind that these should have been
Inside a box, thrown in a bottomless pit but
No. You just had to creep back. Go back. Stop