I am walking to the park. I dream of writing poetry on your body. The feeling isn’t mutual, still I catch some of your sun. Nothing of this is a metaphor. Life is past when we are collecting our memories. Dusty cupboards. Squared fields of weeds. I am standing on a roof.
Mindfuck needs no preservation. Poisonous thoughts of re-erection of one’s dreams. Rejuvenate the profile. Mind-mapping a wayout-plan, a fallback-system to commons like eating, working and dying. Love is dark matter, an ancient, cruel forest. Keep on walking, slowly, follow the low music.
We’ve all been there, and no matter how long you discuss, we belong together. Mathematicians try to prove our existence by failure, although we are everywhere’s force. Undeniable. Together we fall at walls of individuality. Big like small. A famous massacre. You like me. But: All I want is a peaceful life at your side.