I just wanna take
a long-***, sharp-*** knife,
and cut myself
up some lemons.
When life gives me ****
I make a crap stained lemonade.

And when I'm 21
I'll get myself a gun,
and if life goes too south
I'll just stick it
in a safe place at my house
so I can protect myself
if something
god forbid
endangered my life.

I hate everything.
My brain is a mess.
My life is a dump.
I wanna go on a bridge
and look at the awesome
******* view.
It's the small things in life
that make me not
**** myself.

I made myself a cup of tea.
It was made of water, sugar,
warmth, leaves, and shape.
A lonely cup of hot water,
birthed into existence
only to be consumed.
Boring and small and not loved
and not hated
and not thought of
and not wanted
by anyone
but me.

And so for a short interval
between its assembly
and its death
the cup had purpose,
to be drank from
and enjoyed and digested
until its reserve
of taste and liquid
is exhausted.
The best purpose
that a drink can hope for.

But the cup of tea
was quickly forgotten
by its busy creator.
He, I, had other affairs
of a human nature
of which a tea
could not be aware,
or understand,
or control.

I was gone
But the tea was still there
left alone on my desk,
its warmth leaving its body,
its scent attracting ants
and flies
and other raiders and scavengers
of leftover nutrition,
its temporary value,
its purpose,
dwindling away.

The tea would run
somewhere, everywhere.
Anywhere
would be better than here,
than the cold desk,
the dark, so thick and shallow.
But the tea had no legs.

The tea would scream
It would call for somebody,
everybody, anybody at all.
"Save me! Drink me! **** me!
I can't love,
and nobody loves me,
I can't smile, or hear, or see.
I have nothing, I am no one.
I hate this world
in which I can only ever be
dead
as long as I am anything.
Save me! **** me! End me!
Me, who is cursed
by existence itself."

Save me, end me, know me.
Love me, please, love me.
Me, who is childish and empty.
Me, who cries over spilled tea,
and doesn't care
about anybody but himself.
Me, who knows nothing.
Me, who loves nothing.
Me, who is no one.
Me, who feels betrayed
by existence itself.

Every dreary day's the same.
Every important detail is halted
in a stalemate over a somewhen
that feels much like eternity.

I remember it all by heart,
my laughable fortress of apathy:
the texture of the chair,
the length of the motion
between my hand and my addiction
in the form of keyboard and mouse,
the brightness of fake mechanical dreams,
and the mess of real ones.

Then the line between evening and night blurs
or sometimes night and day,
and comes the tedious unrewarding process
of laying in bed, and listening
to all the little pains
of human body and mind:
little scratches, aches,
and too many thoughts.

Thoughts about
all the little things
that make me insufferably like myself:
my ego, wishing only to cage the world.
and make it dance like a fool,
conversing with despair,
an extravagant fellow
who sees no world
outside of mechanical fools
staged on a collapsing surface.

There are also social thoughts
about the game theory, hormones, and stress
of playing in human society.
People connected by fragile threads.
Loneliness is a paradox,
as it tends to grow with density.
It’s always hard to find
the ideal strategy.

I also remember well
the feeling of waking up.
I would have never known
how passionately one could hate
a series of fragmented sound bites saying:
"The time is 7:30 am. The time is-", I know.
Of course, you can’t know that I know,
or rather you just can’t know,
but it feels like you should by now, y’know??


After a period of time
equal parts instant and unending
I find myself strapped
to yet another, less comfortable chair.
There are a few dozen others
sitting in equally uncomfortable chairs
in equally inexpressive fashion.

At an opposite angle,
stands a bigger one
relaying piles of data
to be computed and organized
and tediously rehearsed,
by us, smaller calculators in training.
The most exciting
and unfun part
of our structural data training
are the tests
to check each one’s margin of error
and kindly give particularly special care
to the ones on the lower end
of achievement.

Sometimes one of the bigger ones
asks me if I’m fine
what a stupidly kind but pointless question.
Because, of course,
there’s only one correct answer
So I make a clueless face
and give the same one every time
I want to be a good calculator, after all.

But it’s far too obvious
to even bother saying
that nothing is ever fine
maybe that’s why no one does say it
and when I remember
the depth of my unfineness
my center of gravity sinks
deep into the earth
and all that’s left is the feeling
of my soul digesting itself,
and in those lucid moments
when the game of reality ceases
and nothing can be good or bad
and life becomes
too sad a story to handle
I can’t help but smile.

I always thought it weird
When you served the swans
Poisoned remains
Smiling so sincerely
Like the smile of a mother
To a newborn child
And yet they never learned
The virtue of mistrust
Over the taste of crumbs
Not evil, just weird

How is it that you speak
Of fate, justice, and pain
While drinking black tea
Beneath sun and plantation
How could you understand
What makes life worthwhile
Can't you see all of them
Are birds of your feather
And why do you bother
With counting the corpses

Did you hate them
When you ended their lives
Was it out of pity
For birds without wings
Were you miserable
At least for an instant
You must have been
What could be beautiful
About innocent lives
Being smoldered by cyanide

I don't hate you
I just want to know
How could you look at them
With a spark
In the gray of your eye
As if bewitched by a miracle
Even if they can't
Tell you that themselves
How could nothingness ever
Make the river more whole

"Roses are red,
violets are blue,
vibrant as love,
my love for you."

And yet what of it to the rose,
the colour of your love?
Why tire her
with your cacophony
of disjointed emotions,
stretching and bending
across your heart,
giving life
to an empty shell?

Must you call upon the violet
to prove your love?
Must you abuse
weeds and flowers
with no pulse of their own
to show that yours still beats?

What would you do
if the rose were to wither,
if there were no gardens,
if the sun never set
and came so close
you could steal it's glow
even if only for a glimpse,
if there were no rainbows,
and no rainy days?

Can you ever truly love
on your own terms?
Can you love someone so much
and understand it so little
that no rose, lily, or violet
could ever come close?

I live,
Therefore I love.

I love,
Therefore I hurt.

I hurt,
Therefore I can die.

I will die,
Therefore I must live.

A performer can't exist
without an audience.

It is paradoxical.
The water drops
become so pretty
when no one's watching.

"Death is inevitable".
The phrase has circled through my lips to my ears and back again too many times to count.

Maybe it's a sick kind of hope. "Death is inevitable. My suffering is temporary. Everything I despise so much about myself will end".

Maybe it's an excuse. "Death is inevitable. One day, there will be no tomorrow. Why be concerned with building a future that will get demolished".

Maybe it's a reminder, to be strong. "Death is inevitable. Life is a millisecond in an eternity of nothing. I can't afford to let it pass by".

Maybe it's the simple act of recognition of an ugly reality as it is: naked, terrifying. "Death is inevitable. Life is meaningless. I am dust".

Or maybe it's just the silent screams of a childish mind slowly going into insanity. "Death is inevitable. Death is inevitable. Death is inevitable".

Still dancing around
the fire, no longer burning.

What reason to smile
could they have found.

What dream so lucid
they forgot the shaking.

What feeling so strong
to silence the ground.

Can't they smell the ashes,
the stench of the void.

Can't they see the wasteland,
the decades of hurt.

Can't they hear the crying
of the burning soldiers.

The sea of regrets
buried under the dirt.

Don't they realise-
no, they are busy.

Collecting hopes and wood
to fill up the space.

Pretending to mean it,
but they are all liars.

Yet again building
a new fireplace.

I'll give you everything,
because I'm selfish.
I'll steal from you
every smile I can.

Oh, what wonderful ways will I find today,
to thoughtlessly waste my time away.

People love to love,
But love's love is quite little.
I prefer hating love,
Because love hates people.

Love is a parasite,
A drug at it's best.
When's the last time
It gave you any rest?

It demands and demands,
What does it give in return?
It's no wonder people say,
That love can "burn".

But it doesn't really matter,
So I say, to each their own.
You can try living together,
But you'll still die alone.

Some people think it's a line,
some people think it's a surface,
some people think it's a dot,
devoid of change or purpose.

Some people think it's squishy
and that every touch,
could have made so things,
wouldn't be as such.

Some people think it's hard,
and that as much as you try,
you can't change the direction,
of a single butterfly.

some people think it's like breadcrumbs,
and if you look hard enough,
you could trace it back,
to when things weren't as tough.

We think of time many things,
imagination knows no limits,
and so we tend to forget,
time is just passing minutes.

So… you have a dream, a passion, a burning feeling that if only you can get that job, or become famous, or get rich, or be a doctor, or make that startup, or write that book… then you will have it all, you will be complete, or at the very least… it will make you happy.

So you work, you work hard because you know that the key to success is determination… there are some days that you want to give up, but that is to be expected, after all, nothing worth doing is easy, right? It does not matter how difficult it is… because you know it’s not about now, it’s about later… it’s about how great you’ll feel once you finally accomplish that dream of yours.

And before long, you’ve become bitter… you are so focused on moving forward, so locked in this tunnel vision, not being able to look behind you... all that’s real to you is to keep going ahead, ahead, ahead… and this place? the now? it’s just a stop along the way, and so are all those pesky long years that came before it… clearly, this is all leading up to some grand final, your dream… the thing that will validate all the long days spent working towards whatever it is you want, something that will validate you, or so you keep telling yourself.

And one day, perhaps you give up… or perhaps, you find that you’ve arrived, you are finally here, you’ve achieved whatever it is you wanted… you celebrate, you feel amazing for a day, maybe for a week, maybe you are still content after a month or two… until… ever so slightly, so slightly you barely even notice… it all becomes boring to you, and now, you reflect, and you take in the meaninglessness of your achievement.

And then, one day… you get a dream, a burning sensation you cannot describe that if you can get that job, or become famous, or get rich, or be a doctor, or make that startup, or write that book… then you will have it all, you will be complete, or at the very least… it will make you happy.

betty weighs 300 pounds
her husband died last year
but she ate the pain away
and never shed a single tear

she tried to stop a few times
but you could always guarantee
that in a week or two
you’ll find her back at KFC

life just goes in circles
and you know, it's rather strange
a different mask for every friend
and yet people never change

peter is a hired gun
he'll **** for a little green
he looks his victims in the eye
and shoots em’ in the spleen

there’s a pistol in his hand
and a bounty for his head
and sometimes late at night
he wishes he was dead

life just goes in circles
and you know, it's rather strange
a different mask for every friend
and yet people never change

georgy is a ***
his dead stare tells the tale
10 cents in his cup
his mind broken and stale

he can’t get a job
torn clothes, jaded face
he lost his family to the *****
and his dreams along the race

life just goes in circles
and you know, it's rather strange
a different mask for every friend
and yet people never change

life is just a joke
and death is just the punchline
it ends the weak, it ends the strong
your heart will hurt, but not for long

maybe I should feel regretful
maybe in a while, I will
life no longer has appeal
it’s only going downhill

but maybe there’s a hope
my story’s still not through
but that’s just wishful thinking
and wishes don’t come true

and of course, I know
life doesn’t owe me a good ending
it does not care about me
I cannot breathe, I cannot see

and please do tell me
am I wrong in my despair
the world ain't good, the world ain't fair
if god exists, he doesn’t care

but if I could start again
well, I would do it in a glance
to be naive, to be alive
I would take the chance

I wanna go to a small town in Colorado, to a place where nobody knows my name.

Because when no one knows your name, and life is just a silly game, there's no reason to feel remorse or shame.

And every day I would sing and dance while every night I would sit and glance at an empty bottle of champagne.

And I would drink and I would sink and I would lay and I would think about the stars until I forget the pain.

I wanna go to a small town in Colorado, to a place where nobody knows my name.

And I will admit, that I might never be complete, but you know what, to me, it's all the same.

I would skip from town to town, I wouldn't stop, I wouldn't frown, only me and my heart free of all sore.

And never again would I look back, to the connections I now lack, because if I remember, I would be free no more.

life has no grand final, so don't anticipate or dread...
the sun will rise and fall again long after you are dead.

life is not a journey, and there is no destination...
only a hole in the ground after a slow stagnation.

life is not a game of skill, it's not a game at all...
it's all physics and dice, so pray for a good roll.

life is not a story, and there is no twist...
no meaning in the chaos, no catalyst.

sometimes a memory will ache and shake and won't disappear...
and will bruise and confuse, and replay so crystal clear.

and will chase you in your dreams and will run and will hop...
and will never stop, always chop, until your sanity goes pop.

and then you either hide behind a bottle of champagne...
or stand and knock and roar until you break under the pain.

and if you escape back to comfort, it's still all an illusion...
escaping to the tune of a memory of a pleasant delusion.

sadness reduced to chemistry, and happiness to pills...
connection into screens, and beauty into heels.

love reduced to science, and the heart to an illusion...
success into psychology, and purpose to confusion.

people made of iron, with automatic minds...
sensation systemized, and sold to the masses in lines.

meaning stripped away, unraveling the scheme...
resistance is futile, the system reigns supreme.

I wonder, what will I think as I take my last breath;
as in one instant, my universe crashes to earth.

will I be proud of this brief moment of light;
as I return to the void and the sun fades out of sight.

will I still care enough for this aimless charade;
to shed a tear for this world which I slowly made.

or will I, when I have nothing to lose or to hide;
admit enduring this descent was a matter of pride.

I wonder, for how long will my memory last;
before my dearest friend forgets me, and I am lost in the past.

the next day the sun will rise again, the people hurrying to work;
the flowers still blooming, the earth rotating like clockwork.

but if no matter what I do the ending will be the same;
is the only way to win, to quit playing the game?

wake up...
fix your face, thoroughly clean your teeth...
above, left, right, all around, underneath.

get to work...
no time to breathe, look confident, look active...
to have a good life, you need to be productive.

get home...
tiredly, don't think, sit in front of your tv...
let your mind drift away, for an hour, be free.

finally, for a second...
remember, reflect, realize, and regret...
then stop, forget, go to bed, and reset.

hello, I don't know you, and you don't know me,
and sadly, it's likely that so it will always be...

but still, I write you a letter, a poem, if you will,
in the hope that one day, I will break this sill...

in the hope that somewhere, beyond the sea,
there's a person that just might be in the same pain as me...

in the hope that someday, i will meet you at last,
and through a miracle, this whole thing will be in the past...

and if one day this letter, this person finds,
I'm sure he will see, someone like him behind the lines...

and altho my hope is baseless, it is all I possess,
and I know I can't afford to have any less...

and so, I write a letter to a friend, that I don't yet know,
in hope, that one day, it will not be so...

I worry, but not just that, I am a warrior... to worry is my full-time job, and it requires a 24 hour work day, every day, I worry when I wake up, as I work, when I eat, and while I dream.

you don't need much in order to become a warrior, you don't need a horrible life, you don't need to be starving in a third world country, you don't need to be on the brink of death, no... anything short of perfect is good enough... in fact, its probably better if your life isn't too hard because otherwise, you might be too focused on actually fixing problems in order to worry about them.

worrying is easy, literally, any problem, even an almost imaginary one, will suffice, just pick something, ANYTHING, and think of the countless ways in which it could go wrong, because it can, it probably won't... but it can.

it's not about logic, you can understand perfectly well that you are doing all you can to fix it and that worrying won't help and that it will probably be alright... you can understand perfectly well that in a week you will probably forget about it, just like the countless other things you have worried about in the past, but it won't help.

I am addicted to worrying... its a drug just like any other, in that you get mentally and physically addicted to it, and in that, once you get a taste, it's VERY easy to become addicted... like I already stated, anything short of perfect will suffice, just think of any problem: a fight with a friend, status, weight, your career, taxes, life, death, running out of your favorite brand of ice cream, or even the fact that you are worrying itself, all are perfectly good reasons to worry, ANYTHING is.

I am a warrior, and I'm tired of fighting myself.

there was once a kid, which I used to know;
staring at me from a picture, of a life lived long ago.

I remember a kid, as the memories fade;
who used to laugh a fake laugh, at everything that I said.

I remember a kid, from long back then;
who died as he lived, in resistance and pain.

a confused little kid, who I used to be;
who died long ago, to make room for me.

there was once a kid, which I used to know;
who I left behind, many long years ago.

I know there's no point to be happy, neither to be sad;
I know there's no point to be nice, neither to be mad.

I know there's no point to the losses, neither to the wins;
I know ideas like hope, are preposterous things.

and yet I still laugh, and yet I still cry;
and yet I am still terrified, to know one day I will die.

and yet I still care, and yet I am still sorry;
and yet where there is none, I dare to write my own story.

for whatever that's worth...

hello, bright sunny day, I'm miserable once again;
people say to just be happy, but I'm not a fan.

the ground is not enough for me, no not at all;
I don't want to be stuck on this tiny blue ball.

I want to fly, up high into outer space;
and punch god right in his bearded face.

yes, I want to defy, I want to control;
I want to be the only one that dictates my role.

I want to be grand, I want to be all;
to be god for a day, I would sell my soul.

Being a kid is truly a curse... I feel like I'm treated like garbage or worse,
when I move out I will finally get the respect that I crave... never again will I be a slave,
yes! definitely... when I turn eighteen... then my life will truly begin.

Living alone is so problematic... altho once I thought it would make me ecstatic,
my wage is so low that its funny... the taxes alone take up all of my money,
the exhaustion eats me from the inside... and the old 9 to 5 is no easy ride,
surely when I get a real profession... that will reignite my long lost passion.

My life feels so stale, even with a profession... money ain't enough to fight back depression,
and at nights I feel oh so alone... sadly you can't get love for a loan,
when I find someone I so adore... than I will be happy, of that I can be sure.

My job is taking up all my free time... but surely when I retire it will all be fine,
I will take trips and explore the wide world, I just need to wait a little longer... surely that I can afford.

I should have realized it long back then... if you wait your life ends before it even began.

let’s pretend, just for a second, let’s pretend…

let’s pretend none of it is temporary, as eternal as the heaven’s gate…
let’s pretend we have nowhere to hurry, unmoved by the foresight of fate.

let’s pretend the sun flows around us, never fading from our sky…
let’s pretend we are at the center of the stage, so high and mighty we can touch god and fly.

let’s pretend there won’t be problems, or if there will it’s to teach us a lesson…
let’s pretend the world’s our teacher and with its teachings, we shell bloom and blessen.

let’s pretend if the journey’s hard its a sign of a worthwhile destination…
let’s pretend that to those who are good hearted life gives its admiration.

let’s pretend that words can move hills, while sticks and stones can never hurt us…
let’s pretend god’s first concern is our prayers, and the world is our fortress.

let’s pretend God is alive and so is the hope he gave us, let’s pretend we never killed him, just for a second, please, let’s pretend.

at the Coliseum of broken souls, in a battle to the bitter end...
when all that's left are plastic roles, is there a difference between enemy and friend?

the foolish and the righteous, both walk the same path...
only the undaunted, can escape the arena's wrath.

like a slaughterhouse maintained by foolish cows, in a truly ironic masochistic order...
so the ship to the arena bow's, at heart growing ever so much colder.

I count to 10, I count to 20, waiting for something to change…
but reality is certain, the script of destiny is far out of my range…

What an overoptimistic egotistic stupid fool, dares to take hope for a ride…
success is the exception, failure is the rule, im getting emptier, emptier, emptier, inside…

I count to 30, I count to 40, looking for a reason to stay…
sadly I cant jump to the other side, too many obstacles in my way…

I can see the sunlight clear as day, on the other side of the glass wall…
freedom so close, yet so far away, no one can hear my desperate call...

should I keep counting? Why would I do that anymore? To see the same outcome arise?
but maybe, something will change if I do what ive never done before, close my ears and shut my eyes…


the wall is gone.

its the same **** again, waking up at 3pm, and a case of mayhem, mayhem, mayhem of the mind... oh, and how can it be, how can i feel so blind, and unblindfolded, all at the same time.

beauty and terror colliding, so provoking, so dividing... creating a perfect grey, a depressing disarray.

and i'm walking on the edge of black and white, of the darkness and the light, and how can i fight, when there is no wrong or right?! if i shine bright, all that would be left is to burn, burn, burn in fright.

its the same **** again, going down at 5am... at the finish line of another loop, another fail, another bail, another floop, to break out of this depressing unprogressing, possessing, and regressing stupid loop.

and than, at 4pm, its the same **** again, a little different but the same, because no i dont have any flame... no, i'm not gonna shine bright... how could i fight?!

I walk the path of ruse, in my idiot shoes… If I try to rule the world, I end up being seen by all… under this mask of control, there lays a faceless brat… and I just play my role, in the battle that he brought… and I will take the fall, for the battle that he fought… lock the windows, close them all, make sure that door is shut!
I look deep within myself, and all I see is someone else… I am not in health, I do not know where lead this rails… and please just tell me what can I do, to be just a little tiny bit more like you… and please just tell me… how can I not be sad… because I think you are so good that I must be bad… and please just tell me, can it be, that you are just a little tiny bit like me?!
I walk the path of fools, upon this mountain of dirt… I am one of countless ghouls, with agony I flirt, and please tell me… why do I want to… be everything that I cannot… and please tell me… why am I itching… to tighten this rope around my throat.

I saw the world today, all the little people in a perfect array... focused, collected, interconnected and yet all so alone... so full of hatred, fully immersed in the journey they made for each other, why do they bother?! is it just a distraction? there reaction to a world empty of true satisfaction, a world not made for them neither for me, this world belongs to nobody.
Some lift themselves up to be god, some seek his heaven, some lay in his mud... all blind... all covered in blood, blood from there own goal, there own game... some seek money, some heaven, some fame... they would go far to get to there goal... as if throwing the coal... in there own train, as it keeps going and they keep throwing they all go insane... with grief, power, hate, pain!
All the little people... so immersed in there own game's thrill... non of them can see past the hill.

words words words... from morning to night, that is all they do, there words can make fright! they can change you in a way no action would... in a way nothing could.

words are not bad or good...  they can be nice or crude... they can take any side... you can twist them around, until they fit your agenda! words can become any propaganda...  and than there is the words guy... in his word laboratory... the words guy wont get much praise or glory... his words are not many, and less enticing than most... compared to those other guys he does not come close!

words guy listens to words... he puts them on his words tester, he checks through each one and does not try to go faster... he carefully looks for lies and forgings, that is what he does from night to morning.

because words guy fears words... in this fight of ideas they are like swords, they can be used by any side, wrong or right... and the lies that they bring can be far out of sight! but even tho words guy tests all words alike... his own brutal true words nobody likes.

i lay on my bed thinking of tomorrow... and yesterday... oh and how much better i could have done today... mistakes, mistakes, mistakes: i counted 16, 22, 38, 51... i could have just done better with a shot from a gun... mistakes: just one... "i am done" i think... so frustrated at myself i can't even blink... "this stinks... i stink"... why? just why?! why do i need to lie, waste time, be shy, be emotional, one day die, feel this, not be perfect, cry... why! i want to be perfect... perfections spot on reflection... is that too much to ask in life... i need some direction! people say: take action! do not wait! do! just do and shut up! i am doing! and up until now i have done crap... so you shut up! please tell me... which way is up?! this world has a shape... shape of a maze with no escape... with no exit... please... just give me one success... so tomorrow perhaps i could get some rest.



please... my tears are running dry.

as i drown in confusion... in the feeling of an oh so still illusion ending its delusion... i feel myself going further and further, everything becomes distent... and all the people, now they all seem so little, except one getting closer... who is he? who is he?! is he unknown to me, or is it me, or both... who am i? am i hard or soft? am i big or small? whats my porpuse, reason, goal... who am i at all?
and all the masks... all this masquerade... they all fade... and finally i can see my face... no masks, costumes, stakes... no more angst... i look he... i look me... i look i in the eyes... and finally i realize, i dont exist, always wearing masks... a simple mask i became... i do not have feelings, emotions, goals, aim... because i let life become no more than a game... a simple custom game i myself became... and me... the mask claimed.

simple old love is like a nice massage, its calming, relaxing, not complicated or perplexing... it shuts out back pain, it helps forget the mental rain, and just like the rains... it hits hard... than slowly fades... are you willing to pay? for a small while it will all go away.... as a simple illusion leads you astray, suddenly everything is ok.
but be warned! with this illusion comes its own pollution! an addiction... a conviction... as if being pushed back by your own minds fiction! you will keep chasing that feeling... its so lovely and thrilling... but its only gonna get harder to achieve it... to believe it... and as it fades away you find you cannot relive it!
because a massage is no more than a simple feeling... altho its out of your control... it can be nice and relieving... however it is not meaningfull or fulfilling... so enjoy a massage, sure, it can be nice... just do not make that massage your meaning in life.

time... it flows freely like a beautiful butterfly... it can drop you low or bring you high...
constantly flying in one direction, faster and faster... leaving no time for reflection, to appreciate what you have gotten, to say goodbye to things long forgotten.
no, time will never slow a single bit... if you do not want to lose it than sprint! sprint! sprint!
even if your lungs are dying and heart is breaking... even if you feel your legs shaking... run!
because if you stop going... behind you, you will see time rolling... like a never stopping wheel... it will run over you... it will ****!
but eventually everybody has to stop... no happy ending... just the end of your plot.
because it will take everything you have and more... to not become a thing of the before... to not become nothing more than a memory... and soon after even less than that... because the memory... time will also forget.

you have a destiny, we all do.

because destiny is simply the predecided, it is the path in which from birth you are guided... it is the false freedom of being an individual, and all those critical moments... your decisions, they were all set in stone in exact precision... by events out of your control... and all you are doing is playing your role.

destiny does not take sides or provide options... it is the truth of the future to you unseen... it is the script on which exist all the scenes...

because that is the cruel nature of reality... even your individuality... it is no more than a movie... a tape... it is what makes you... your beliefs, feelings, shape.

and you? you are a prewritten character...  you are a puppet... so play your role and shut it!

numbers... the numbers above the test... on the id... on the car... in the programs binary... a check... in our dna... in the nature of our world... i have to say it is starting to get old!

numbers... that is now all i can see... in people in objects and even in me.

a number does not have a soul, a meaning or a grand purpose or destination...
whenever i think about that i get a strike of irritation...

because if we are just numbers there is only one conclusion i can make... what we call emotions desires and the highest of stakes... it can all be brought down to meaningless digits... to a simple piece of code... and so i am also just a meaningless digit mold.

the rain... it traps me, it surrounds me without any chance of escape.

disconnecting me from the world and leaving only my bubble... only me.

where is the world?! where did it go?!

i want it, i NEED the world... and where did they go? all the people that i know... all the friends, the enemies, the heroes, the villainess, the models, the teachers... where did everybody go?!

perhaps... i can enjoy this, yes! perhaps i can!

no rush, no mission... just the meaninglessness of the rain...

and as i drop the umbrella and aimlessly lay on the ground, not thinking, not trying, not worrying...

i like it.

Where did you go to 1992, oh can I please follow you.

Oh are you really dead, just thinking about it makes me so sad.

Feels like just yesterday you were with me and we laughed and we cried, oh it was such a ride!

Oh 1992, can I still follow you? Can you come back just for a little while more? so I can remember all the beauties of the before.

Oh 1992 I miss you, you felt so short, its unfair, and now all i can do is remember.

Remember and learn how to make most of the time in our hands, because 1993 also ends.

all people have a perspective...

a way to see, hear and feel whats around them, a way to understand what surrounds them...

so many honest views, people, desires, problems and emotions... all connected through a beautiful yet terrifying ocean.

the ocean that we like to call humanity... and while this ocean is not full of just happiness and prosperity, while it also includes in many forms wars and manipulation, that is the price that we pay for a world with the invitation... to think and try to understand the world from our perspective... and not through some hive mind collective!

because as long as individuals rule... not some oh so great god judging as from his oh so high stool... there will always be wars for power, for itself is what humanity will devour... for everybody will keep fighting for there view... for everybody thinks they are right and want to make the rest taboo... just like you.

i wake up at the exact same time as millions of other people

i get dressed, and like so many others immediately check on my phone because of my constant need to compare myself to the world

than... i think... it cant really be that i am that predictable right?!
it cant be that all that i have done has been done before me!
IT CANT BE THAT I HAVE BEEN DONE!

i try to convince myself... but sadly even now as i try to separate myself through artistic expression every key that i type is typed by thousends of people around the world in the exact same second... and even the message i am trying to portray has surely already been done by so so many others...

it would be arrogant to think that i am special or original... no, i am small.

but perhaps... that is not what actually matters... perhaps whats important is to make the best choices you can make, in your little insignificant bubble.

Silent voice... With a silent message, silent thoughts causing a silent wreckage.

It silently whispers fears and desires, like it is directly connected by wires.

You try to ignore it, convince yourself it's lying, but overtime it's voice grows more and more tiring.

you feel your heart beating faster and faster as You turn around in a state of alert! But there's nobody there, the room is silent, except one little voice in your head like a Syrian.

Shut up! Stop! You despretly shout, are you going insane?! Is there a doubt?!

You begin to lose self control ability as you inescapably drift into a state of emotional instability.

Suddenly you can only see walls, no doors, no escape as your mind slowly rolls.

Rolls into a maddening web of imaginary problems, created by fear and expended by disbelief, as if being pushed of the end of a cliff!

Except worse because if you fall the fall will never let you go, no, you will go as low as low things can go.

poems exist... i like to write them.

the end