Why don’t I care?
Why don’t I fervour
A tomorrow, better?
A future, brighter?
Because,
The world of words
Couldn’t bear the heaviness
Of all the days
I’m forced to endure.
For I died many times, now,
I live on the add on
Of the residue days.
Or so it feels.
As if my existence
Is a mere indolence
Of the unwrapped folds.