Gut level, below it all.
Out of duty — just here.
Feeling like a knife’s being twisted in the hole of how it is.
False hope, an inch of pride that died when I left to hide from non stop
battering of conditioned opinion.
Rest assured but not assured, all is well, but I think we’ve dealt
with the fear for far too long.
Unborn suffer the norm.
Born to this — I thin not!
I stand against till the shit drops.
We see all but do nothing, in the hole of «How it is».
