Bouncing fists off walls.
Endless unappreciated failed triumphs.
Hurdles leaped, barriers removed, all in vain.
Boxes ticked, copies spoiled, followed by new processes.
Old processes retracted, money subtracted, and added, again and again and again.
No longer stopping, looking, and listening.
Hoping for a fight to be put my way.
Not sharing or caring.
Turning milk sour. With a stare.
Deleted. No longer there. Unsent messages.
No worries. No thoughts.
Switched to off.
Void.
Black.
AGAINST THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC - ACTON28.BLOG 