They might not know yet
But
Inside all this blurry mess
Disjointed thoughts
And empty words
They were always
(always)
trying
To connect with
Something
Else
(desperately).
It didn’t matter what it was, actually.
They only needed to keep creating roads and shorcuts to
Kill
That unbearable and retarded nothingness
that was devouring every
still life they had
left.
Crita.
Crita 