PAINTING A PICTURE

After he came to his senses, they slowly headed towards the train station. She was still sobbing. And this guy, he was really fucked up. I mean, really. He looked like a wounded zombie. It was a sad, sad sight. Silent thunder behind the silent hill. Her silent sobbing. Silent rain making silent hum. And the freestyle clatter of her heels. That’s how this scene actually sounded. That’s how this little piece of the universe looked like.

Finally, the boy added an appropriate flavor to the picture by spitting some fucked up words on it.

– This is so fucked up – he said.

– So fucked up – the girl replied, and because she was still sobbing, her words sounded kinda fucked up.

A street lamp seamlessly blinked before it went out.

Ahead of time

the play lasted long into the night
and then he left:
carried by the wind
he blew trough the dark
and he was beautiful,
almost free,

but no witness was there.

pills kill.
pills can cause slow and painful death.
but your doctor or pharmacist
can help you stop.

shadow of an old oak.

Silence

Some sharp, inevitable thoughts
can put a razor in your hand.
The enemy is here,
so invisible,
but so here.

4:11 AM,
a small room filled with no meaning,
devastated mind in a sick body, on a dirty carpet.
The window is open; it’s raining outside.
Nothing special here.
Nothing special, indeed.

Whatever

No beginning, no end
and nothing in between:
how do you tell a story like that?
This gun in your hand is gettin heavy,
and it’s gettin heavier
as you makin your decision –
yeah, you’re making that decision
and that’s what makes it so…

Well.

Time counts down and that gun is a bitch now –
your hand starts to shake,
as you tryna keep it leveled to your arm;
your arm, you keep leveled to your shoulder;
and your shoulder,
how much can it take, before the pain takes over?
There’s a chain reaction about to happen,
everything is about to change,
and still,
you believe

whatever.

There’s a depth far away within you,
this uncontrollable force,
a black hole, pullin you inside
until there’s no trace of you left –
no beginning, no end
and nothing in between.
You are a night wind,
a deaf blink of an eye,
strange memories of wiggling leaves,
broken mirrors,
a world that’s lookin back.
Make a move, boy.
In this empty moment,
you are a particle of hope
hiding a universe inside
waiting
for a big bang.

You donno

Late at night, when you sleepin
a lotta shit’s goin’on
but hell, you donno
because you sleepin

You donno

And the shit, it’s goin on:
the wind is blowin
the lights are wigglin
the trees become alive
the cats become alive
and these rats
they form into gangs
every night

I know
because I see
and I see
because there’s actually not much goin’on at night
so whatever moves
I’ll catch it

In the daytime
when everything’s out there at once
you can’t really see anything