I am not for days, I am not for months, I am not for years.
I am all for seconds…i am all for passing shots.
I don’t go to my roofs now…I don’t see the skies anymore,
I have stopped getting involved with passionate women.
Grey turbulence coming on my way…my friends, do you remember we used to play the game of staring and silence here in this place of underground serenity?
You don’t know what it takes to tame a wild soul…you don’t know the paradoxical lust in homelessness.
Haunting sounds of howling Madal and a toned sky…I don’t go for roofs, I live on it.
The fulfillment of voids and abnormality in people’s shapes…today my room is the African Savannah and I am a drunk lost man looking for the scariest animal to fall in love with.

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Painting: Sharon Whitin.