What time collects may be a trivial dissection of my erratic life- but there is no coincidence to the second or to the leaching misery it disburses- stingy and slow- that I may not even scream a havoc or claim outlandish horror. 
Sum up the hours and bear the loathsome sight- the big picture is a crash scene. Count and check if we can assess and gather our lives under a same disheartening label; a human experience ?
Heaven or hell who cares? The worm is a coming, yet all I can do is eat my boots and the laces too. I should have just latched onto the void of inexistence, but nobody said it was going to be this way…