eventually the signals will die
you seeping beside your old pack of cigarettes
taking one long smoke until your lungs giving out
yet you pulled off another cigarette and called your own self a miracle maker
a madhouse will be less now that you have consolidated your own addiction to fall into grace
Bach playing his tune
as so are you playing your tune
a human being as human can be
and you contemplated all the thoughts about your own self into a mashed potato
and thinking about writing this grandeurs book
the last cigarette goes off
the last trauma calms down
the last thought of your various failures settles down
the sadness remains
the book of Charles Bukowski laying dust
the book of Nietzsche giving you a reason to jump off the roof
the book of Peterson having you to slay a dragon
and the Bach keeps on his mood

eventually the signals will die
your own possibilities of becoming a hero as Napoleon
your own possibilities of a man living ahead in times with no outcome
your own possibilities of your music which is not getting heard
why do we do things in the first place?
to show the world of our relative genius
to show that we have suffered more that it should have been
your narcissism and yet you do it all for yourself and read your own lines of words and thinks about publishing it to see the chances
because the minds always shouts for more chances
the business and their own relative chances
and your own delusional chances will eventually fall into place

eventually the signals will all die
the sound of your religion music will be annoying to hear
and a dusty piano of great depth will look at you to speak its own truth
eventually the truths and the lie will be all aligned and it will all too late
it will be all too late
to be a person again

eventually it will come to pass
the sight will be loose
and you will lose your mind
why not lose your mind right now?
no, you cannot, that is a price too much to pay
yet the prices that we all are paying is gulping down the throat that slays our minds in half and teaches us patience and we come to reality
where reality is a place where you have now learn to accept things

you are a mature man with nothing to him
you are just another loser
in the billiard board
circling round and round like a merry-go-round

the hate
the love and the end of things is near where you believe it's all for the good
nothing is good! you know that! don't you?

"yes, but all of this is not going to help me, I am already drowning!"

"yes we are, and it's the beauty of it, don't you see?"

"you are mad, I cannot live with you anymore"

"well the door is open right in front of you, why don't you leave!"

he waited for her to leave , but she waited for her brain to respond

"well, it's beauty isn't it? don't you see"

he waited

she waited for her brain to respond

"well, what do you say?"

he waited

she waited for her brain to respond.