Snigger,
hate me,
fear me, kill me,
pass me, does it matter?
For I am void, for you, to you.
The outcry of the outcast is no more,
so we are.

We are in sorrow, and in joy for “being”.
Who can fear, hear, or know the why?
Without Mortar we are Mortal,
diverging into diverse holes,
turned crazy and insane like dreams.
Why can't we be loved by existence?
Befuggling my life,
but “here” is me.
so where are you?

The flat line,
the fake conversationalist,
telling me to get rich or die.
Asking, can we not love ourselves?
badly-well-used for existing.
the dreams?
The friends?
the steps?
the ladder?
Climbing the mountain,
so that they will give you anything else.
for what?

Fine-print like the steps in a ladder.
Friends the ladder.
Careful for some want you off,
and some want you on.
What to do?
Live with and without.
At least till we find something better to do.
s go here)