Every end has another beginning.
I think I understand why infants cry.
When you think it’s done, it just starts over.
Perpetual cycle of craziness.
The offensive vicissitude of mankind.
The world’s still spinning, the clock’s still ticking.
Nowhere to run, hide, or even escape.
Burnout, and wake up at the starting line.
Forced to go at it again, right this time.
You can’t make corrections to your mistakes.
Forced to stay with decisions, right or wrong.
Hindered or impaired, you walk life alone.
A pile of experience wasted.
The excrement of world consequences.
With no one to blame except for yourself.
Nature turns a leaf, while you stay the same.
Expected to know everything you’ve made.
Messes and garbage, heaps of life rubbish.
Stuck in a labyrinth, hoping time will end.
Before you’re reborn as the same person.
Nothing is better, you haven’t improved.
Harsh, shrill whistle demands you work harder.
Unheard even by dogs. They know better.
Frivolous tasks, futility of hope.
Just to start again. Infantile colic.