On the contrary, one should have picked up the thoughts much earlier,
Drying in the oceans are ignorance of times untested yet derivatives of failure.
Speak, dear life, as your answers are unsatisfactory to my listeners,
Your daily emittance of hope doesn’t seem enough to make anymore sense.
For such a thing should be here, not make us feel free but to encage us in a forever direction,
Where you are not exhausted, and are not meant to fool us with screens of false desires.
Moving in spaces like these, even in the emptiness of the next words,
Are you in all your unworthiness and yet your decline is unfathomable.
Yet no push is enough for you to be anything but nothing,
And the emptiness you have in you is the epitome of shame and disaster.
In such a world, with all my wits, I’m here to spread the word,
That I’m here to stay and make utmost sense of what seems to me is the only way out.
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