There it was lurking around;
crushing every possibilities.
It was there roaming places
killing the soul.
It came back and went away
again and again.
It came with its ghastly feeling
and senselessness.
Reason was small, but impact was big with
its penetrate-ability .
It could make hole in a big soul every time
it hit.
It wash away meaning, flavor leaving
only reason.
Frustration always felt better
than it.
YOU ARE READING
Life till Death
Poetry"People are afraid to making bad things. I want to make bad things. If I keep making bad things, someday I might end up making something good."
