My eyes are dry.

perhaps it is the years that have gone by, perhaps it is the weeks that have dissapeared, the days missing, hours faded, and seconds dissolved.
but.
things are different, so different, in fact that all cannot remain true and pure. it is so different that the world in its reality becomes a circus world.
here, there, everywhere. it is all around us.
we become one of chaos of desolate of sorrow of confusion.
it is a circus.
why aren't things the same?
why did they change?
black or white?
right or left?
this remains the questions
questions of the future .
a time machine in its self.
perhaps we will never know