(music: "Small measure of peace" - Hans Zimmer)

Uncertainty of pain

Is this what you call boredom?

A nagging

circling

feeling

of being there for no one

but being

A banality of existence paused wilfully?

Is this how you call life controlled?

All that you can allow yourself to act on –

a decreation of your "I"  –

accepting death

preathumously

in summoning the past to take over the next moment

lost to meaning

one blinking somewhere on the walls of your neighbour’s eyes

a one to no one

dead before you even feared

in lives too dreaded

without grasping

that you are the horror

of time

decaying

into a present

uninvited.