urbandream

Used to think that time was a friend of mine…past perfect – distorted to any colour I feel fit to fit my version of what happened…something somehow changed along the way – it always hits you back in the most horrid– biting u where it hurts the most…there is no effective anaesthetic….nothing that can make u sleep….its not another drink or another jay – there is something burning up the insides – wet logs don’t burn brilliant fires but there is decay – eating away the insides falling apart everyday ….
Men walk on burning coals and eat fire when it is so there desire…but I just stagnate…even the embers are not alight – need fuel…need fire ….need to dry… need to burn with passion again…need to crackle and roar… see the flames alight…burning brilliant fire flame…the smell the sight…. even cats would be afraid…
But its all dead like wet logs on a rainy day – nothing can spark this man’s remains…funeral pyre in cyclonic rain…a slow line train – nothing to push for no higher aim…stagnate.. no whirlpool no vortex no still waters that run deep – just muddy puddles and playful reflections…sold myself to the urban dream..