Larrikin! Larrikin!

Shout and cry out on top of your lungs, run across the end of the world, whisper in the darkness, there's no one to lend an ear,  no pity or consideration of pain. The Sun will still set from the east to the west, the busy streets of New York, London, and Tokyo still have traders. The darkness is remains dim, with no regard for life.  Just a voice in the crowd with no comforter, a mourner speaking out of the ground,  surrounded by a crowd full of deaf ears. No slight chance of promoting solidarity.  They can only look upon him with pity, some will rationalize his pain away. In a corner we see a man who use to laugh with the world, now weeps alone. 

A way out

Sometimes when there is no breath of hope in any situation.  You can choose to harden the heart. You can choose to sin.  The sting of guilt leaves a mark. The consequences outweigh the act. The root grows deep, deeper than it intended.  Maybe,  some of the unanswered questions still left unanswered.  The blank statement, the real truth, ostracized.  Who really knows that it exists? How will it reveal itself? Sometimes when there is no hope in any situation,  perhaps the way out is  the mirror inside you.

Subfuscous

My eyes have seen things that should not be uttered nor will it be seen by the naked eyes alone.  A silent axis of evil, that is been discarded as a morality dysfunction. This specter of diseases that erodes truth and dignity. For we  know all the things that happened beyond the law was in every way dignified. Yet with corrupting fantasies, we can see that it is just a mysophobia. And no evidence  of being gaslighted until the carcasses falls.