I'm finally free from these conspiratorial idealizations manifesting into simplistic, over-exaggerated, mild-tone, conversational, unseen limitations. Maybe I'm meant to wonder in complex situations, boiling evaporated droplets of condensation dripping upon unexpected, sweating foreheads. Wetting twisted tongues, tied, tasting salty lips dried by licking them aside, side by side.

Apparently, people say they're really sick of this life. Maybe it's because their quick wits are a vice to compress big dreams into mundane life. I guess it's a lack of interest or excitement, so comparing what's seen on a screen isn't what it seems when outside. These seeds seem to hide in darkness online, left to suffocate alive without any reason or drive, unable to breathe in the living sunlight. Photos synthetic, no rhythm to synthesize.

I mean, it is tough to struggle and fight every day, becoming less than a version of choices we thought made us right. What became of us who fought with and argued till night, sucking this life we’re...