Undoing my bra in despair
Suffocating for fresh air
I look east, I look west
But there’s no room in this crowd

Circles, all winding around in circles
Of greed
While I tread on the ground waiting
For Elpis in spare time

Time that ferocious foe
The fugitive that’s only found
Before we know where we belong
In traces on our faces

Each thought is a groove
Each word is a spade
Each sentence is a grave
And each grave embraces traces of silence

A silence in which I don’t belong
On a time to which I don’t belong
It’s foolish to anticipate
A piece of mind


3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. intlxpatr
    Nov 20, 2006 @ 09:53:55

    “In traces on our faces”
    In some cultures, we consider that character. In other cultures, time for plastic surgery! 😉

    And in the creative spirit, even despair can be a potent muse. . .


  2. neelaah
    Nov 20, 2006 @ 10:53:29

    very nice 🙂


  3. AyyA
    Nov 20, 2006 @ 13:55:55

    Plastic surgery needs a pretty good budget, how much can one afford to repair :p

    Thanks sweetie

    And btw, this is meant to be a social despair, just in case your minds go wandering 😉


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