Saturday Morning

I feel as light as a spirit but certainly not as clean as one.
And I feel the end coming closing to me, death as such.

Awful, destroyed, unvirtuoso and failed.

I feel so heavy yet so light, slept amost nothing and sleep i feel not.

To change things that I cannot change I wish.

Such wishes are not granted, and hence I will enter the coming war with low morale with few interest.

For something wrong was done.