Losing the Day

Another day to play

The losing game

Another day to waste away

I does not matter anyway

A Lucky Strike

The rich are the happy one

In this equation,

Improving their wealth

Every year

For the rest of us

Eternal struggle to make ends meet

We will suffer and eventually

In the next cycle

Lose even more

So please give us your change

So we can maintain ourself

And continue to pretend

That things will get better

Meditation at 5

What am I?

A fictional character

Living a little life

In a cold and hostile city

Near the North Pole

Playing different games and

Being played by

Strong women

Satisfying their neurotic needs

While they are doing their

Narcissistic deeds

Leaving me poor and empty

By the end of the day

4

I am looking

For the door

In order to run

Away to the fun

Leaving all that

Nonsense behind

This is the way

I survive

Makings of the World

Do I believe

In making

The world

A better place?

No I don’t

This is not my world

Soon I will be gone

Other will come

They will make it worse

Soon they will be gone

And others will come

And maybe make this

World a “better place”

They will be gone too

And in the end

Good and bad

Will be gone beyond

Recognition

The Great Loser.

I keep on trying

Year after year

There are no

Meaning

I am a loser

And losers

As you know

Deserves to die

Out in the wild

Or in a camp,

A concentration camp for losers

The winners can put us there

And kill us

A winner is a killer, a murderer

Just doing the killing, quick or slow

That is the true nature of humanity

My Story

My story is short

The message is not important

And very important

Since is me

Me is the center of universe

No one and nothing is more important

I even got an autograph once

Written by a very important author

Whose name I have forgotten

(After all is not my name)

She or he agreed

To something

But I cannot tell you what

All the my energy is absorbed

By thinking on me

Juxtaposition

Life includes

Most of the time

Things in between

Rooms that

Are made for

Movement,

People perfect strangers

Passes by

On their way to obliteration

They are here just like you

Existing in perfect juxtaposition

To themselves like mirrors

For the sun

There are no message and plenty of messages

In this order

Contemplative Self Destruction

Here we are in this dirty place

The people that we are

Are the ones we hated yesterday

We despise ourself

Because in our own eyes

We are failures

Creatures not worth living

We thought that we had

All the answers but this is not the case

We are losers

Soon dead

Leaving the world

To be destroyed

By the more successful

Of our stupid spices

Run Rerun Return Repeat

The mind runs around

In circles

While the body still sleeps

Visiting the same places

Again and agin in the

Dream

Life was hard on me

Creating wounds

That will not heal

In a lifetime

Still every day

We, me and my body

Get up, go to work

Fight the fights of the day

And return home

In order to rerun

The show in perpetual pattern

That is what life is a show

But no one is watching

No one really cares

We are just machinery

And decoration sometimes

Only at night do we

Leave on vacation