These days
My life is so busy
Writing its' own piece of  L I T
My heart feels like a *** of gold
Shooting rainbows to the sky
T h a n k  Y o u

(    There's a hole beneath
T h i s   e a r t h      )

I am s c a r e d,
Of how we're under
This s k y,
It seems like the c l o u d s,
Has been hiding some chaos
A b o v e . .

What is the
P U R P O S E
of our lives?
Why do we need to
S E A R C H
and eventually D I E ?
It's hard to think
That R E A S O N S,
satisfy reasons.
We live searching. .
Some has settled in worship
But some just gained
F A M I L I A R I T Y.
A false satisfaction,
To A P P E A SE
the limit of our minds,
To C o m p e n s a t e
For every lost breath
As we strive.

Achieving something,
Enjoying it for awhile,
Doing something,
Coz you're bored with life.
When you are happy
W R I T I N G
A piece of L I T
Would that be it?
Does E X P R E S S I N G
change something?

It is something so cruel,
To find yourself lost,
Asking what your time
Is really made of.

There's a hole beneath this earth

That's why I'm digging
And digging
Only to find my grave,
r o t t i n g
e m p t y
I n v i t i n g
.