Billions of empty and dark words have been playing in my mind.
It's tragedy, unescapable - the human condition.
They deceit us with beautiful phrases and megalomaniac metaphors, but can never hide their savage essence.
You can never fully describe your anger with a single phrase: it spreads, grows, it's unstoppable.
Nothing can be done, they poison our souls.
So, yes, they're here, they want to come out of me, but they don't deserve it.
I'd rather be weak, lenghty and pathetic with my simple words and metaphors. At least they're pure and real.
I won't taint my hands - nothing can be built out of the wicked.
Instead, I'll just continue to sleep. I can already feel the smell of breakfast.