in these trying times we may or may not becoming the one

that one we all know, those whose name are sung everyday

throughout the history of humanity. yes, you know them.

 

they're the symbols of struggle

of the ever-changing never-certain sorrowful future

of the painful heartache that rots away your soul

leaving you alone in some corner of the world you don't wish

to be in. you don't wish to be at all.

 

we may or may not survive, if surviving means sacrificing the

rosebuds of the present times for the totality of the

unpredictable days to come. we may or may not choose to

simply not existing, if there is ever such option. we may or

may not resign our core into the depths of our heart.

interacting with autopilot mode, replacing atlas with the least

minimum effort it takes to produce any vocal sound.

 

at some point in our past, we realize how fucked up we're. and

such tension kept its eternal loop for every second up until

today. growing up may or may not mean growing used to

disturbing such stuff. growing to become one with the

dreadful shadow of the external worlds. or, growing to ignore.

 

if there is such thing as choice, then sartre and his kind

should suck dicks while waiting to enter hell.