I’m the estranged

2025, who gives a fuck? Who knows what we feel? Who cares for a soul cast aside to the corner of the deafening universe.

The streets aren’t that full. They are too loud, too noisy, yet hauntingly quiet. Who gives a damn about me? About this heart that keeps on beating? The morning path is just nothing but endless grief.

Who gives a fuck? Who knows of the wasted soul? Sitting amidst the crowd, yet remaining a stranger. Once again, whos cares? Even the quiet morning feels more sacred to me. The scorching midday sun. It’s same. Solemn. Quiet. Lonely.

Only space remains. Back into the cell. Sitting, with only the terrifying dim light. Lying down, retreating into the beautiful dream, before eventually waking up again onto a world that remains estranged.