1/7
ANOVA
Laughing in the dark,
Even silence subtly distorts.
Seems I’m beginning to understand—
There is no such thing as an end.
The beginning is but an illusion.
To think one could touch a mood,
Is to chase hollow creations and fall into disappointment.
Repeating days merely tread like a globe,
Leading nowhere.
Pushing instinct away,
I dive endlessly into waterfalls.
My figure, like a spent spinning top, unstable,
More delicate than any art.
Revering aliens,
While dying without ever looking at the countless people right here.
If that is a sin,
Then reach the ideal before time passes.
The beauty of denial is simple.
My revenge ends in failure,
Like a sluggish Trojan horse—
This life of mine.
