The Mirage

He lived life through a looking glass;

A mirage of the future stained by the past.

His day to day existence became trivial.

He'd masturbate, occasionally fuck, go to work, eat, shit, piss,

then he'd go to bed before waking up and doing it all over again.

He made mental notes of the stupidity of the world around him.

And how his own stupidity played a part in the steady decay which was his life.

He hated seldom and found that people were drawn to him.

Especially women who seemed to be magnetized to his effortless personality and charm.

The little things got to him, and caused an inner madness.

Some people he just wanted to escape from,

but he often found it difficult to do so.

He thought about killing, like everyone.

Felt fear, like everyone.

Fantasized about fucking countless women, like almost everyone.

And yet, he found little point to his own existence.

The world, to him, seemed to be a toilet bowl full of poison and treachery

that didn't deserve to be praised or saved.

But instead, deserved to be flushed along with him and his own trivial existence.And yet, day after day he woke up with the idea imprinted in his mind that there was no point to anything, just to do it all over.