The tediousness of the existence
gawking on the will to push the toxic air inside
the used and abused body.
It’s no use in reminiscence
if the only memory to remeber is shockingly vile
but being sadistic is a hobby.
The mundane leaves a taste
that cannot be washed out or truly forgotten
the dream knows its been cheated.
These years are a complete waste
of the space and time, the whole line is rotten
the positivism is finally depleted.