Cliche is boring and boring is cliche. 

Words are cliche. It seems like everything’s been said before. The same realisations and conclusions are boring. 

Repetition. Repetition. I feel like a repetition of history. I feel like questioning time why it stands to observe the same things. 

It seems like time doesnt like my pessimistic ways. and neither does it think optimisim to be necessary. It’s neutral and takes no stand. What a bore. 

I feel like a bore. 

i feel like frustrations are getting old. Like the same joke on replay becomes dust that has lost meaning. 

Predictable unpredictability. 

Non-sensical philosophies. Oxymororns. Very cliche. 

nothing special. 

Subconscious. Conscious. Subconscious. Conscious. 

My mind moves in between these two states. 

nothing takes me seriously because nothing gives me a definite answer. And the only answer seems to be repetition. all over again. 

Staying in muddledness. like lalaland. 

that has to come to a grinding halt. 

Does it really have to? 

I’m not sure. 

It all just seems like worrisome poetry to me.