the morning came with no calamity
and he left
with a only a whisper

all things come to an end
the beauty of it is that
i don’t have to write anything
anymore

i can be
normal
and alone
just another one
of their drones
buried beneath the weight
of responsibility
and ceaseless entropy

disconnected
and forgetful
unthinking
and sober

no more misdirection
just in and out
up and down
left and right

no longer cursed
with traits of creativity

no more wrong
no more disposable words
no more crazy
nights
and flights
from
myself

the end is almost
beautiful
what lies outside of reality?
nothing special