Never Made Much Sense

Do I get too obliged to do this? Not knowing what you feel, why and to what phenomenon in such life. Not knowing what you say. The feeling of lackness and incomplete nothingness that risks your consciousness when overdue. The notion of mixed exhaustion, apathy and tiredness in between being mechanical and emotional. Nothing is making me feel good, not a call to owe me transfiguration, not even bombing my partial substance.



The naivety is long gone and picking the unlively confrontation with what is for unsure self-interest is the superpower of down and quiet. The thought of detest or disinterest, indifference and impartiality directed to the elaborated template of relations and such perceptions tied to subjectives, which is not original.

Where am I when I was hanged and combat dominion? I want to be a UFO that is about to exist in your being. I don't know who am I that makes me cut off. I think I'm just glad I'm not that unknowable anymore.

It's just clattered, it, that is.