Where the fuck is the moon!

What point is there in writing for noone?
No even that, What point is there writing gibberish for noone?
No only noone will ever read it, but noone will never be able read it.

The rigor mortis that invades my mind,
is but a whisper,
a whisper that simple says:
"Hurry, Hurry, Hurry, Hurry."
My dearest reader.

Anxiety is not it.
Its expectation,
expectation unlike hope,
is waiting for something to happen.