i don't mull about the past often.

not really the one to apologize for my pride.

don't really care about public's disappointment,

sentiments are worthless baggage weighing down my sides,

and indulgence in wonders feels nice,

but it isn't my type.

everything is dark and miserable.

faithful optimism is the pathway to hell.

i live, but i'm really not living,

it's all relative anyway.

somewhere at some point i am pronounced dead.

perhaps i am already dead.

i don't pray a whole lot,

lord knows I can't be kind.

don't need nobody but myself

bearing the burden of mortal suffering.

i'm not so good at attaching to a stranger,

not so great at committing to things,

because everything has an expiration date,

and every road has its end.

so let me save myself the heartbreaks

and never invest in a relationship in the first place.

i want to be lost, but i want to be found.

a paradoxical belief,

a contradicting existence.

life is a mindless following of the momentum,

of carrying on the endless, meaningless motion.

don't look back, don't stop,

eyes forward.

left foot, right foot, keep pushing forward

toward the awaiting grave.

i will get there soon.