the last fragments of my rationale

No trust,
Egos are skulls,
Never smile again,
Minimal remorse,
I do not have an "I,"
Simple and basic messages,
Can we get them from?
The blossom of death?
Fat rodents copulate;
they want to lick the mule of their superiors,
Never smile again,
Have you touched it?
The darkest drums,
Did you sit on the street?
Have you populated their ontogeny?
Clean head,
Tidy pollens,
They smile like hungry ticks,
Their gods are the circus,
All mementoes,
The sign contains the word "love,"
That dog fermented it,
Digest, digest disgust,
Soft bodies under the clothes,
Withered phalluses,
Compensate through aggression,
War is their breakfast,
Your blood is blighted water,
Did you administer physical sanctions?
Your fluffy hands
Stroke others' shoulders,
Push, push, push,
Anomalies would erect a dove,
Made from vapours,
Solemnize their imagined gods,
That man pooped treasure
Next to the waste bin,
Harmonized synchronization
Between two mantis faces,
Where you lost everything,
Without a personality,
I am so happy,
Without a name,
I do not exist,
The non-existence,
Malicious,
Marvellous,
Wished protagonists.
Let's forgive
All that You Can.

Nd45678UJ to my G.

Mixed-up clouds and roofs ---- offer a red beast on gloomy Satan,

Hundreds after thousands, 

tens before zero

amorph chaos

a non-exclusive hell into the morning,

Colonised PVC hands hobbling in the smelling life,

All in a tinned can, biting my body vapours around.

There are melted egos in hearts around me,
earlies bumble bees above overgrown bushes,

Grass-eating Cellar spiders flocks 

roe-headed snails watching my sluggish dying,

Death lurking on the corner,

A million times and always earlier,

It's still there, visible from the bedroom window,

Behind the thyme in the plastic tile

Watching my invisible pseudo-death.

A new second is coming

then comes a newest 

after that moment that was,

Loosely keyed glance pairs from our last kitchen,

You are in my tear cube

You sat there, wearing my puffer jacket,

I left it there

Last present to your daddy

The fridge handle still contains my frozen fingerprints

The Bajvivo street 

You

and Our seven years

To be there, to be alone,

Eating those scents, 

feeling those clothes,

From my dead blah-blah-blah,

Your mindset is a paralysed lock,

Emotions robbed trust, 

the last hand knocking up and down,

from the time coffin

takes up my face

Crying harps from my heart

know the way into the sorrowed ballad

I am erasing it now

Dear, if I don't want to survive,

Please give me your soft wrist one more time,

I want to touch all your wrinkles

I want to smile into your hair

I know it sounds like an adage,

Cliche

But what else could I write?

If this is all that's in my head,

alone again,

You're thousands of miles away,

I am In a dark room with only a suitcase,

And this darkness around me,

Where my laptop in my lap lightens my face.

MNretUi5367 disapperignation

Sorrow, the insidious predator,
Gradually gobbles down,
Lips, tongue, teeth all down
From head to toe,
Parallel to my thoughts,
Before I can even react.

Realization comes too late,
Depression sets in,
Ignoring everything that mattered,
It kept me alive.

Windows become a stranger,
The furniture turns cold,
Voices fade into silence.

Forced happiness fails,
It leaves me empty again.

But I shouldn't care for myself,
It's selfish and wrong.

Millions suffer in need,
Without water or life,
Killed, raped, and abused.

Yet here I am,
Lost in trivial sadness.

Nm345TY all right

Teeth are renewed.
Essential requirements
for eating the whole planet.
Nervy sky with lilac mushrooms,
Yellow stripes of awful views.
Systems keep eating,
The engines are working.
Silliness enjoys itself,
and it has won.

We are platonic morons,
teeth want to grind
the self-marketing demand
more and more
as it was an endless and galactical market
with millions of narcissistic clowns
jugglers, pickpockets and robbers
produce and sell, 
cheat and emit a propaganda
then leave a rolling sorrow on the street
The soft skinner Two-legs consume
exploits every opportunity to extend
with their proboscis sip blood from their applauders.

Bearing all of this,
I would deny my disgust if I could,
Though it is so apparent,
etched into all my grimaces,
Some days,
the act of pretence is insufferable
Before I understood
I have forgotten and forgiven;
All that remained was smiling.

Doubling consumption,
worship of profit,
Swallowing it,
downing it through the marble gullet
Your stomach becomes a fanged sack,
Crushing everything.
Virtual vomiting every single day.
In this vivified Bosch painting.

NM24hfdnm4 the nothingness still can breathe

On the way from Bakewell
The hills sob and keep asking,
"Are we therapeutic cocktail glasses?"
Brown roofs hide their sadness,
Dripping their wetness on the road.

I struggle to understand the meaning of all this,
That creek will survive my existence
Sitting in the car like a dead passenger --------
My heart is missing,
The flesh of my chest is like dog food;
I would fade
but I write that I do not want to perish;
because I am too coward to admit it.

I wear a smile.
Grinningly answer when the driver asks for something,
While its Saline drops corrode the remaining brain
I smile, chat, nod and smile as it must be
roundabouts are spinning and gone
I can't wish more.

The picturesque hills are speckled with sheep are like familiar
plastic puppets on this landscape,
The driver keeps repeating,
"Love lambs. They're cute."
She raved about the lamb dish she had at a restaurant yesterday
She's unaware of the horror
The absurdity
that arises from this kind of inconsistent
thinking could be bizarrely tied to cruelty
I am sad
They pretend they love nature
but damage it
Loving animals
but consuming them after they were killed by others.
The paradoxes of silliness.
Everywhere
"I am not on this planet."
"This is not my time."
"I am not in this car."
Repeating, reprising, I am smiling --
That is just my body.
Your nose is on my neck,
It is like a molybdenum spike,
Exclusively harming me.
It does not matter.

The motorway is a pulsing vein,
Pumping all the cars in some direction
We are blood cells ---
I might be a cancer cell that should be eliminated
Oldham is the next organ,
then the cage in which I live is coming
I am dissolving,
The nothingness blows me out into the air
I am not there
Shall I live tomorrow
the answer is
uncertain.

NmbckL73TrB the day number 16789

As I stirred awake, a voice whispered,

"No more struggle to keep breathing."

Perched on the edge of my bed,

It muttered,
"Your life is poisoned."

My thoughts wanted to swallow me.

All I could say was,

"I need antidotes, then."

No one replied.

All was motionless.

The room's silence grew into
an onyx-hued balloon

I hugged it close

It was amorph; twisted and muttered something

looked like the essence of nothingness

with lips as cold as the wall,
contorted in a snarl;
Its tongue, frozen solid to metal,
touched my mouth

Its claws tore into my back,
cleaved a gap,
settled between my lungs,

then, It peacefully fell asleep ------

And dreamed of demise.

While it napped, 
enormous moths swarmed around it.
I counted them.
It's possible that I fainted.

After that, I woke up again.
The voice returned:

"No more struggle to keep surviving."

Sitting by my side,
it sneered, "You're alone."

I did not answer.

My thoughts wanted to mock me.

All I could think was,

"I do not care."

Nobody answered.
Nothing moved.

So, I slept back.
I surrendered to the silhouettes,
And let the loneliness embrace me as I lay.

JHetríue536JK morning

I have no head,
I have no stomach,
I have no mouth,
I have no heart.
I lost my lung,
I have no guts,
I have no kidneys,
I have no liver,
I have no brain.
I lost my legs,
I do not have arms,
I am nothing.
The wind blows through me.
I do not understand
how I can cry;
how can I know these?
I do not care about
all things at all.
I have only paranoia,
I have anxiety
and depression.
I flow down into the drain,
but the last thought
I had perceived
was about your face.
It took a second,
and now,
I am nothing.

MNo2341BN12 landscape

On the way to a shop in Failsworth
Its signage told that it was an Extra
the light rain endeavoured to purify the roads
I intentionally ignored the presence of clouds
the more they stayed in my mind
Also, they sank into my stomach
They traversed through my capillaries 
Until they reached the ground

Asphalt was like crude oil
As I stepped, it rippled like crude oil
their waves were formed by
thousands of tiny sharp blackbird beaks
their desire was to gobble up
all of our attempts at happiness
they tried to lick them
and erase all joy from my limbic cortex

I almost felt a certain emotion
maybe a despondency
strolled around the shop
and glanced at a car park
tried to stroke their shadows
floating in the air
while nobody came to my mind
As a walking insect wished that
your fingers
would have been in my hand

I did not know where you were
weirdly, some people kindly nodded at me
causing tenderness in my heart
I was a little stone from the Moon
with a robot body under my skin
And when the shop assistant said goodbye
and smiled
I was happy for two minutes
as she blew away my concerns

The family houses cried on the Ashton Road
their small gardens, green parks,
filled with fuzzy dandelions,
happy violets,
and proud daffodils all soared into the air
they tried to make me happy without intention,
just gently,
as it came from their existence.

I was amazed by the frontgardenology 
tiny green threads bubbled around the houses
did not understand
how all status quotes
were replaced with newer status quotes
I have arrived at the shelter
when the time has not been obvious
the confident man walked against me
dancing steps
blurred and blurred and ahhs
I gazed at the ground,
the aroma of weeds coming from homes
and the scent of laundry services intermixed
smoothness has become faith
and the loneliness was replaced with abandonedness.

PQ2635NmTR in Failsworth

I lie in a dark room
The laugh-tracked comedy on the laptop screen is flickering
there is too much giggling in the background
The place I am in now has replaced the hole
where I lived for four months
my sinuous sleeping bag hides me
and preserves my warmth
but it cannot alleviate insomnia.

The rain is knocking on the window --
Despite its harsh sound, it remains consistently peaceful
I should feel something 
I would expect to feel disappointment
I crave to feel some resentment
but this level of isolation is devouring my feelings
It eases the pain in that way how acids would do
by removing all pains
without leaving anything from suffering tulips
in the invisible vase on that disappeared table.

I wish to disregard noises
sleeping a couple of minutes
diving into a high-density gallium-like dream sea
but the wind is humming outside
afterwards, it is knocking and gets louder 
then it's pummeling the roof
so I assume the rain has turned into hail.

Time travel would provide refuge,
so I'm leaping back
As a child, I had my own bedroom
a secure space for a smooth sleeping
Now, a gentle lullaby emanates from an old boiler
its switcher's clock vomits clinks into my ears
and a black mould blooms behind the wallpaper
If I could slumber and find repose
the world would fade to endless shades of night
which is similar to a dreamless doze's blackness
And in that, I will lose all light.

nfr77293Zt

Houses, windows, and cars seem to be real
Hangovered eyes burn from the salt
The entered light projects the face onto the table
That might be me
It might be this
I might be here
and walked to the window,
stopped,
pointed to somewhere,
and then showed me how beautiful the weather was
Ashton Road is almost aglow with light
I want to touch you,
but you are not located here,
there, or anywhere else.

Now, the sadness is not as intense as the grief
I refrain from crying
due to the pain in the corners of my burnt eyes
I want to know what I actually want

The easy chair, garden fence, and shoes also appear real
Hangovered stomach wants to survive
Easy pains with thick blood
Thinking about termination is always unpleasant
It feels like dusk that cannot be happening
The complete solitude acts as a catalyst
That might be me
Is that me?
That breadcrumb on the cushion
is rolling toward me
it might want to cheer me up

I feel thankful
while watching the withered dandelions in the garden.

without our common lies

I presume You want constant growth;
Like our crazy economies' GDP and GNI;
It's possible that we've believed in our ability
to control nature and determine its priorities,
and we can control its evolution
and dry its huge and weeping eye.

Should we sense an unwavering desire to dominate our planet?
Do you believe in that we can exploit nature endlessly?
You may believe in the existence of a God
who created you. Uncertain which god you believe in
among the many gods that humans have invented,
but it seems many of us believe
we have the authority to use the Earth.

I'm unsure how this presumptuousness evolved,
but it's unsettling and alarming. You seem to believe that
you possess extraordinary intelligence, yet your actions contradict it;
And Our conviction that affluence
and capitalism leads to happiness
reveals the outdated nature of our civilization.

The unshakeable conviction in the countries
and nations are deeply discouraging.
The sense of ownership over the planet
and everything in it, including living beings,
is simultaneously saddening and comical.

The archaic condition of our society is alarming;
Many people use technology without understanding
its impact on the environment,
fueling the expansion of late capitalism.

We are mostly the current period's past.
All these things are unbelievably crazy, and
If evil were a tangible thing
it would resemble our mainstream culture,
where the primary skill is destroying natural wonders
that took billions of years to evolve.

Bwnger456734 of ants

I can see us on the roofs;
We are wafting above them;
You are a red cube;
I am a blue sphere;
My footprints are like a frozen Coriolis force.
Our joy is uncaused,
It cannot take longer than infinity,
which can be found between any two numbers.
The sun is just a door of entrance,
but we do not care about it;
Time had become meaningless.
All I long for is to breathe;
remembering all windows
where you might be behind them
and watching this way.
Did you mention the efficiency?
How can I touch the skin of sarcasm?
We can't grasp each other's fingers,
melted veins made from the sun's pain;
The two dancing shapes on the roofs
laugh and repeat their movements
which always makes them different
from the boiling and unreal air.