As the city quiets down
Noises come up within

The funky soundtrack of my demise
My hands in pockets because i have no belt
I ll wait until tomorrow to realize what i felt

Even the waves are in a hurry to get somewhere

The moms on bikes with the childseats empty
On parked bikes only the back lights are on
Red red red red    but the city's still
gray

I forget which street light are those that turn red to green only as you get closer to them

I am the home that sometimes feels unlike a house to me

Mom, i'm fucked up, but what you have to know is that i take my vitamin D3, calcium and magnezium, omega 3 and B12 vitamins.

My brain is a radish
My spine wishes i was an invertebrate
My momma wishes for a better me
Reality is sliding in the gap between the train and the platform

Next stop
Is

Bigcityrants

We live in an age     of light
Much of it                   neon

After much elaborate consideration
I have decided
That i will consider it


Punk angels
Having shaved their wings they had to find
Other ways of getting high


In the metro tiredness disconnection sadness & malcontent are bobbing their heads
Considering whether they should get out
at the next stop


At the green light two strangers begin a walk towards each other
Whatever is the street they are crossing,
they smile shyly towards the middle,
touch lightly and kiss.
The light turns red the cars start honking-
what now?

I honestly hope I harbor no more hope

tonight we are the audience.

akin to candles in a church with no windows,
we are melting away.

somewhere sometime someone
is saying a prayer through us.

it is almost ridiculously hilarious to see all humanity as one intricate headless chickens dance
and almost similarly saddening that we are not laughing at it nearly hard enough

happy silly willy nilly

I shake my head
             .madly.
my webcam is not covered, there might be someone watching me-
 this
 is as close as we get to God nowadays
 .us relaxed paranoiacs.
looking back over our shoulders when making decisions



for a while my spirit was empathizing with the contents of alcohol containers
(empty)
now
entitled to feeling
--so full of  it--

o (dh)armă albă

there is a warm gaping distance between me and what I feel.

no wonder
I got to wonder
whether you're
really
such a wonder.
now,
I wander.

most certainly so,
I am a relativist.
that, of course, is a good thing,
but then again, it's also bad.

an anticipation of an emancipation of the present.
a full night awaiting to be emptied with voids.

sadly, people are white noise that I tune my ears to.

our consciousnesses are animated&contaminated.

-aberații produse în portbagaj, prea târziu să-ți pese, prea devreme să dormi, abundențe de nimicuri.