The Boy's Broken Eyes

This... Seeping exhaustion, weighing down, nay, crushing down on his mind and body

His soul alike, numb, indifferent to the platitudes of everyday life

The idiotic aggressivity of strangers, the everpresent risk of road rage, of road accident, of road catastrophe

This suffocating, nagging obsession about all that is negative, all that lack any sort of effort;

the lack of optimisation, the lack of care for optimisation,

ah the misery of every day life.

Human connexion rendered impossible, a pleasant day, mere futile fantasy

And every hope, project and dream is vowed for failure, forever in the purgatory of can be and what is.

oh the misery of everyday life.

All that is good, overshadowed by either suffering, sad truth or the impermanence of all things.

The boy's broken eyes, witness to sickness, to the cruel aging of the body, to rot and death.

The boy's broken eyes, staring at himself, this strange creature, forced to live and forced to fear too-

Worst of all, no solace is to be found in knowledge, in research, for there is no answer to all this;

mere speculations, mere flailing of limbs in the deep, deep darkness that surround all.

Then the boy hides himself under his bedsheets, listening to every sound, deathly afraid of nothing really,

and of everything,

of some being or other finding him, discovering him, so miserable.

Perhaps the witness is afraid of the witness?

That there is no one to see, or maybe ''One'' does see?

The boy's broken eyes, once last time, sees the distant moon, and later the rising sun, and later the darkness of the ceiling;

The boy sighs, gets up, and avoids his own broken eyes, ignoring his crushing fear, of himself, of the witness, of all this stupid fucking life.