.

Once, whenever i looked up at the moon, looked like it's yawning, cozy, lazily watched me wandering the streets after midnight, ready to go to sleep. Tonight the moon looks swollen, red-eyed, tired, worried, sleepless, looking at me with its dark eye bags, looking in apprehension, waiting, afraid.

https://youtu.be/iXk8QXhr7Fk?si=TtoUphxQcLB16zOi

Life's too complex, long, hard. death is simple, fast, always near, always around.
          Seems like it shouldn't be that way, life should've been easier, if living beings were supposed to live it, death should've been farther, less likely to reach. It is human fear that complicates the process of death, fear had to exist as a fence for humans so they won't stray too far into the fields of the unknown, non-being, death.
          What a scary idea for a monkey's mind, we are just at the threshold of knowledge and consciousness, not much differing us from animals, we are but animals with extra unnecessary steps, destroying nature that created us, killing our own species, ravaging through earth, if we are, as parts of nature, are actively destroying it, then what are we, if not a huge, too powerful, horrible mistake in the order of nature? A cancer cell in the perfect body of existence that maintained itself for billions of years before conscious humans existed, a body that is now rotting and decaying. Our brains cannot handle the order of the universe because it does not belong in it, consciousness was the worst and only misstep nature has made, and might as well lead it straight to its demise.

This body is for the soil, it's for the worms of the dirt to feast on, it is not mine, I don't belong in it.

اكل وهم، وامشي على وهم، البس وهم والحّف نفسي به، اغتسل فيه واحيط نفسي به واتقنّعه واحلم به واصدق الحلم، اتضرّع لوهم واتموّه بوهم واتنفّسه، ان سوائل دماغي التي يعوم فيها باتت من وهم، واجد نفسي اشِفُّ يومًا بعد يوم، واخشى ان يأتِ اليوم الذي فيه استفيق، وعل خوفي هو اليقين الوحيد.

All the things i love grew thorns.

I don't believe in god
          But i beg him
          Every single day
          To take me back
          To my hell
          Where i belong.
          Please god put me back
          Because this hell hole is cold
          And I can't handle a hell hole
          That doesn't have the familiar snakes
          That wrap themselves around me
          To make me feel a mother's warm embrace 
          That i never had.

السجين يقف
          على منصة الإعدام
          ومن خلال حبل المشنقة
          الذي يوضع حول عنقه
          يرى زنزانته.

If only i could put a bullet through his voice

Who will finish my books? Or empty my watchlist, or wear the clothes i never got to wear. I have stuff that's still new, unused, couldn't find a good day to unpack my things and go through it, couldn't have the energy, couldn't feel like it, never did, never will.