Stupid Graffiti of the Past

Every day I fall into the dark well, reaching out to cover the increasingly faint white sky. The bottom of the well is a paradise outside the world, but it is enough to make me shatter to pieces. Thinking about meaningless things, time flies by. Looking forward to the raindrops of hope, swallowing the bitterness of fate. Perhaps he is knocking on his own grave. The tombstone is no longer as precious as a quiet moment.