Deja Vu.

All disasters are; I am.
Wreckless.
Miserable.
Unreal.

All beauty is; I am not.
Simple.
Questionable.
Real.

I am disaster.
I know no beauty.
I am wreckless in my complexity.
I am deep under miserableness, I can no longer question it.
I feel so unreal, I don’t know if I am truly existing.

I am gone.
This disaster.
One of millions.
Is so far gone.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[rhinehart]

powerfull stuff