How I see the world, at least exactly now

Things was not been made anymore
and carelessly
things are being throwed away

It is the chaos
it is the rain over rain
it is the groove
of my own grave

It is the time of no sense
it is the space of no matter
where I'll fall
where I'll die
where I'll may
be finally
and precisely
insane

But it is not good
and it is no more soon
to do
anything

Things are melting themselves
in a kind of no reality
in a form of no sense
in a mood of no-being
in something like nothing.