Dark Sour-Sweet

wish i was born in other country

two generations ago.

enjoy the lights

yet getting tired of this digital world.

yelled out the window to be heard.

but it was fog that ate my words.

so connected through the wires,

yet absolutely alone.

my plan backfired

not expired, working, but getting old.

you whispered softly some drunk absurd.

but it was fog that ate your words.

and since those times

it's fog that I eat.

so used to the taste of

dark sour-sweet.

in the night

that's what i prefer.

dark sour-sweet

the taste of the shredded words.