One's cold clothes can be one's only world,

someone speaks less than a word.

It's not a secret of which we do not know.

 

Odd, that meaning of life can be shooting.

 

A short article without eye contact.

Our harmless life; everything fine.

 

If all people were same (aren't we?) flesh and blood,

were none shot?

 

Is it an absurd idiom; the grass is a little greener across the barrier,

absurd at all?

Aren't the barries in particular the lines we fall?

 

We have our egos.

We have our souls.

We have our weaknesses.

Can't use the same soaps?

 

A recent timeless is always more than less.

Can't ever be found the eternal happiness?