Staring at a world I call my own, yet hardly know at all.
I think to myself;
"Is there life beyond these walls,
these windows,
these everyday faces and people?
Or is it all just an elaborate fabrication invented to keep us without the means to find out, content and hopeful for the days to come?"I am a mind wasted on a world forgot.
Breathing outwards, breath clouding the already murky, greying windows I draw the curtains on a fragmented world; sip my luke warm coffee, and turn slowly to the dusty typewriter. I am a shell of a human being. My insides rotting, decaying, disapearing with the wind.