Aperture

Crawling through the aperture of adults, crouching and away from their immature word battle; those hands of theirs are ready to slap each other's faces.

This is their way to trigger the blind, appealing aggression; beating, chewing and sucking all the manner that's lectured on their broken description books.

Growling drunk people are spitting out their bladders; they're leaving no motivation for their livers to clean their mess.

This is how he sees the things happening in front of his eyes, just a pomegranate juice that makes the ones who are drinking feeling in an overwhelming pleasure.

Worry tickles his intestines and delaying the assimilation, he's already being stirred in their meal that's gonna be consumed by the sadistic chatters.

He could've never guessed what it would cost for him to be borned in the middle hours of wednesday; now his shade is sewing him like a piece of clothing.

Staying proper and vigilant is the sickness of these modern terms, loneliness and paranoia are their norms they're pushing him into.

Traumatized and dealing with the life's pressure; afraid of stepping out of line one day, cause he knows that going nuts is giving up in front of the pressers.

They've already reached to the adulthood and forced to face who they've become in a regretful way that causes them wishing to rest even if they can't yet.

This is what he's afraid of becoming; he knows what he's going to be, a chain that leads to the infinity restless and more ambitious than the ones who are trying to get out of it

He wished that the script would be handled by the readers instead of the reaper; the situation is helpless if he's nothing more than a mortal

Denying the negotiation, erasing the bestowed ones, tricking the oneself, dreaming hypothetical life prompts; this is his way of persuading himself to be on in this filth

Now he needs to find something to hide under it