If this is success

I hate the sane
The beautiful
And especially the practical

Death by mundane buried in mediocrity
By the bullshit and the white collars

The beautiful children
The station wagon
The flat with design everything
Why to pursue ashes?

I don’t know what to do with freedom

Streetlights fill the room with pale shadows
It’s so silent
And dark

Just the murmur of my mind
The creeping loneliness
And the tiredness

Too tired be
Scared of the lonely bed
Still there is potential for beauty
For finding it in the calmness of the evening