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Not questioning
“What is the meaning of my life?”
It’s nothing at all.

To disguise the boredom
Or be swallowed in a swamp of lies.
Never.
Euphoria.
Let my fury rise
In passion flowers.

Their bitter seeds are of the same cold soil,
And stones lamented.

Elation.
Hollow dismal joy.
A sullen light.
A kind of ecstasy.

We are all dead now.
Do we fail to feel?
We are all dead now.
Or don’t you see it?
Or don’t you dare

To stop poisoning our souls with foul breath,
Licking its wounds with a tongue of thorns?
Are we brave enough to take the goddamned fate,
And make a first step towards death?

We dream of a new day to come.
In a fit of remorse regret it at night.
Wallow in prayers to ease stubborn pain.

Clouding of consciousness.
Indifferent mind obscured by relief.
Well-being
In deadened serenity.

Importunate psychotic lust
For parody of life.

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