[Objective]

When I woke up this morning,
and started walking to brush my teeth
(kinda awake, kinda not)
while looking like something God forgot,
I found a note underneath my bathroom mirror.
Should have taken it as a forewarning not caring who came to deliver.

The envelope says:
"Did you read the memo?"
And it's signed by Existence.

Damn, life know 'bout persistence...
But why would the source of my prison
care if I listen?

So...
Besides survive,
what else resides inside?
In my mind I try finding a purpose.
No luck or perserverance
when stuck grinding this circus
minding my surface appearance
to not seem nervous to peers,
or my parents.
With women all I need is a clearance,
and a hearts furnace to spare certain merits.
Knowing that's past what you can ask of a person
I still want that ass, no other masterful version.
Even here I fear urges to care.
Plus, self love is best served with a beer.
Thus,
I move to the hallway more concerned with my hair
than if end of times turn to be near, like always.
Hunched over and bent to time, now curbed to the stairs,
I start pouring whiskey (the only friend of mine),
noticing the grim label, like: "This art's great from the dimmed table light".
My burden is clear
that I'm soon facing no work for a year.
And I'm getting frisky while my heartrate begin exploring risky.

It didn't take long for death to knock on my door,
when neighbors found me there was an unopened note on the floor:

"You care too much. All you need is to breathe, then feel the breeze of empathy's crutch cus entropy's touch is nothing but painting on dust and expecting the image perfected to last. All you do is project, don't reflect on your past. It's not something you must. Believe me, eternity sucks."