This evening the world seems as distant as the fading horizon on a lazy shimmering sea. I don’t think i know the people anymore. I don’t think i know my friends any more. There are no more songs to capture my imagination, no more vessels can take me to that horizon. Is this where it all ends? Or has it only begun? Questions such as these plague my weary mind and the train chugs on to the destination i can barely call home. The thought of those walls suffocates me and life seems like a prostitute waiting for a customer, ready to finish the job and move on to the next.
More incoherent thoughts. I wonder if the beauty of a poetry lies in its incoherence. Words form a trapdoor in an inebriated mind and spill out in a beauty of disorder. The dark folds of this endless night engulf it in shrouds of mystery. These words will never be spoken again. Interpretation is just a facade for your own thoughts.