Nobody knows how to kill you.

You drink hell lot of a whiskey and play with colour tubes…

You smoke a cigarette and win a verse from nowhere. 

you put your brutal soul on celluloids and make some blazing movements…

You sleepwalk on dying cities and become a rockstar. 

You and I, we are the lucky ones. 

We can only be killed by ourselves. 

But till then lets just accept these isolations, 

and make disappearing infinities.

………………………………………………………………….

Painting: Job klijn.