there are too many people in this world.

Clearly I get hurt from this clear fact.

Why it hurts?
Because it’s a ugly fact. Even stinky.

But why,
yes, why I’m here, being one of them?

‘Mneme'(memory) forms me,
also it does deform me, then melt itself to the air,
finally it does ‘meme'(mutate, inherit) me.

There are just…too many of people.
And my memory lasts and will survive me after all.
In the form of painting.
Oh, sure. Didn’t know that?


And no regret I haven’t even started my own share like anybody.
In this ugly cramped city.
Because I’m not here for being a commoner.
If you can’t accept this, don’t have to like it, since I never asked you to like it and oh, yes, just leave me alone.


One response to this post.

  1. Just …
    another nice poem full of thoughts.


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