Sometimes I think of death,
not in a morbid way, but it’s
almost as if I daydream about
what it will feel like to be only
a memory, an image trapped
in a photograph tucked in a
wallet, or maybe under a pillow.

War.

Time is too valuable, to be wasted on the ridiculous and the absurd.

Something different.

For all those who have a broken heart.

Poem.

Experimental revolt protest.

Status Quo.

Psychosis.

Sacrifice, selfishness, love, death.