always this way
was born tired

I’ve devoted myself to being a satire of myself
to become a double

my double existed where it matters little what it’s read
what we thought we knew

sick city
air and love suffocate
incite to write

we were the counterpart of the experience
we created from scratch - like an omniscient -
the story that
from the first paragraph
was idiotic

I could read
on the green line of the subway
the virtual reflection
through the window

what should we do?