thoughts

Self Self Self
cursive, poems, seventies
exhaust smoke and rain
rain on earth
disappearing road
light
touch me not
relativity
rain against trees
Chopin, Brahms, Liszt
large glasses, gloves
free flow
sky turn
flat soles
stop line racing
the soul
high beaming on oncoming high beams
petrol, sound of engines
renaissance
moon
turbo whistle
dark
romantic age
acceleration
rainy mountains
trance
slow
painting
rotation, revolution
stripes, lines
bass thump
thought frequency
depression
inspiration, influence
creative
intellectual people
art
reflection, reflecting
arches, walls
ignorance, saturation
truth, deadlines
black and white
shadows
waterfall
empty
speed
horses
colours
rails, train windows
dew
long corridors
focus shift
names, titles
sync
mist
messages
losing the self
searching
mildness
mild One


The number of questions is always more than the number of answers.

I feel incapable of doing things that are to be done.
I am misplaced, grateful and desperate.

I am hunting for inspiration.
I have grown out of waiting.
I crave for change.

My future is vague, but signals keep pinging.
My emotions have reached a level of saturation.

I have no reasons to live nor any to die.
I have no reasons to explain and no necessities to probe.

My life is a one way road to a dead end.