The Moral Limit

 I want to know why, I have this passion for writing, when all I believe to be thinking of, starts and end with chaos, that never truly ends and I really don't see any good enough a point to write the punch about. Despair. This blender of flames, and thoughts, it all lies there together in a wrong piece of mind, disabling my peace of mind. "I could carry on and bluff..." is just a flashback, oddly thought of, from a poem I once wrote. To whom, it matter not. No. Not that, another. What's the point (then) I said...

I am tired

and disappointed.

I hate...-

Good night Adi.