Like a cart with wooden wheels,

my feet chap on rocky slopes

How fast am I going?

How low I may go?


Secrets to the grave


Shall it come to the day my lungs lose air for the last

My deeds in the dark I pray are buried beneath the dust with my bones

I am not scared of death.

I am scared of the light that will shine forth,


They are only friends I have had…

… in this wasted life I have led

unordinary man

I have watched the world through a window,

the small screen on my phone,

I was afraid to be honest.

I am still.

hiding behind texts, likes and comments.

sure they haven’t been many but they have got me through.

the little coward…

molded like a rice ball,

rolled on the ground

you can see the specks of dust stuck in my skin

I am no “unordinary” man

I have stopped trying to break through

I am not giving up either

I am simply living today

I am me

the horrible writer on the “press”

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