Thought by design, beauty in death, martyrdom or something, I tried to make sense of itall. When did the world end and why did no one tell me? I kept living thinking everythingwas as it should be. It exists as a house now, purely to fill a quarter, to occupy aroutine, to exist for the sake of taking up space.Nothing is ever the same.Everything is ever changing. The world has stopped spinning and everything has lostits meaning. I've never branched in a tunnel.By design, beauty in death, martyrdom or maybe just displaced, jiggered in a summer's sweat.I've been in part, but still.Why?I hate how it's been.I hate my body.I hate my voice.I'm like a stupid human being.I feel the same.I'm not the same.I'm not me.I feel like someone.If I swoon today, I'll become one.Maybe I'll return tomorrow.Maybe I'll return tomorrow.Thank you.I am no martyr and I never have been.I am no martyr and I never have been.