Like broken shells

Sand. Broken shells. Shells under the feet. Yielding sand. Broken shells like people. Walk slowly along the shore. Think. Pick up what you find, discard it. Pick up what you find, collect it. Try to think. Backwash, seagulls calling: confused voices. People talking, useless words: weathering my thoughts. Feeling of weariness, the action's futility. The sea, an empty stretch. Grey sky, cold cover. And the void, inside. Thanks. The emptiness, outside. Thanks you all: little joys, big loves, partners for few hours. A pier, tries to reach for something. Thanks to the sycophants, thanks to the night-man. There's nothing to reach for. Thanks to those few real friends. Aimless. I am aimless. You taught me an important lesson: I need a target. Use this city, don't let people using you. Looking around me. People come after, the purpose comes first. I see just wordless strangers. Suffer, believe. Empty streets and damp houses. Broken shells. Thrown over your shoulder. And void. And weariness. Nobody is worth more than my goal.

I am not worth more than your targets.

People as useless as broken shells.