Sunday, January 13, 2013

Room no 34

you are back.
I like staying with you
writing about you while staying with you
you take away time from my lungs
and give it to me
your complains, your breathlessness
your blurry stares at the remaining 
your sincere projections, my proven futile
seven pushes out, your no pull ins.

It takes me a cigarette to stabilise what you do
A cigarette, a fogged street and a few cold bones.
cut to
an x-ray machine
the machine that turns everything into black and white
the white succumbing to the black disappearing
reminds me of the television screen
cut to
its blue indigo asthalin neon light

a genetic predispisation
an environment highsound
reasons of feeling your breath

I have visions, they are yours
no mountains, no grains
I squatting inside a watermelon
you pulling at the flush 
cutting across my cheek
saying that's how it rains
A self obstruct button that I pressed
to blast off on a mission to a planet where something is free
to play with my memories
and there are no thought thieves

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