Survival. Existence. Broken bridges.
Is this what life has come down to now?
Victory, Being able to get through it with minimal bruises.
What is the whole point of living this cruelty like a mad cow?
This world is filled with chaos
And we’ve adapted ourselves to accept things with all its flaws.
Damaged. Salvaged. Wrecked.
Is this how it’s supposed to be?
Craving for some space at a faster pace
Trying not to be claustrophobic.
Grinding ourselves to prove to the illusionists
That yes, we’re worth it.
And losing ourselves in this lonely quest
Aren’t we all sick?
Of all the tits and bits of what’s left of our little nest.
Craving to be accepted by the ones who are fighting for their own acceptance.
Does this all make any sense?
The mightier we try to be
The brighter it all seems to be
The creation is not the creator’s to boast about
It’s his work of art that is accepted without a shout out.
Being able to survive this chaos isn’t an art
Being able to beautify the chaos with your own thoughts is a work of art!
Living through it isn’t life
Loving all of it is life
Unfair is just a word
Which will fly away like a migrating bird.
The nostalgic insomniac 