Madness only comes to innocent death
live only survives,
the concern that
invariably unhappy and hope is a fucking fantasy.
From this corner the world has no meaning beyond
another cup of weak coffee to accompany my insignificance
and regale the world as a showcase.
And the story is too heavy to lift a finger. Only
apathy overwhelms me each time, an eternal
inability to anger, pessimism
written on my back, folded
pain.
Image: Nighthawks, Edward Hopper
