Miles ahead, this prolific highway is broken too.
I am on it since forever…and with time I have stopped reflecting lights from my shattered pieces.
Now you can’t see me among crowds…you can’t smell me between magnificent pines…
Try looking for me in any corners of red infused bars in this city,
there’s a possibility that I will be there…collecting some gutted stones for my gray poems.
I drink and I smile in invisibility… there’s sex, there’s suicidal confrontation,
but no more war for existence.
I have always been the front man of my despair.
I am coming home,
I am coming home through that broken concretes…
I am coming where I belong.
And I have nothing but some of these pages of inked shits.