Moaning while passing through streets filled with schizophrenic souls, I gasp and inhale boredom with unflinching brutality. The darkness falls from the blackened sky and as I see people around me becoming self-obsessed with every passing hour, it just makes me grimace. I could milk a tear for this humanity so vain but why bother? We all blink with stars in our eyes that spell inevitable doom. Some of us bite the wind and accept it and represent it through woeful love ballads while others sip on the suffocating seductive cocktail of poisonous denial. It’s simple to fall prey to either of these, heck, to both of these things. As the conspiracy materializes further through each numbing minute wasted, the freckles on tired faces deepen furthermore into the cavities, the blood-shot eyes reminisce of the faded bygone eras and permanence presents itself as the mockingbird dancing playfully. Our fates were carved into the stars. We were doomed since our whining days. It’s just that now we have alcohol and cigars and drugs to sing us psychedelic sagas. Things we carry, they overburden us. And we let them. The worst part is that we blame the cosmic gods for drowning us at the sea when we don’t even care to see the broken mirrors for ourselves even once. If I could, I would vaporize these words and set them free in the pale grey skies. But this is the only way to quieten the howling hyenas of thoughts bellowing, crying inside my head. When I wake up tomorrow, there will be yet another hundreds of thousands of lives lost and all that’s going to sustain in the aftermath of this destruction will be the fresh echoes of distant screaming hurling at the tip of my ears, playing spells of a perfect storm called Doomsday.