Lights perforated the nocturnal ventilators in a patented pattern,
parallel and intricate like strands of the double helix
dense with the sloppy drunk dancing smoke levitating and fading away into a void;
gazing at the pebbles underneath the shallow salty stream pouring down his face,
there he was piercing the veil of a juxtaposed
surrealistic reality, and the silence was refracting itself
with his breath forcing and catching along with the coughing chorus,
until the orange juice stirs up the endorphins;
thoughts fall from the psychological precipice while questioning his existence, 
have you ever wondered what part of the jouska are you ?

"who is He, who am I, what is This, are we three all the same ?”.
I said, "He knows, what is This is, but I still don't get it."


Someone squeeze my pituitary glands,
and crash me into emotionless fever dream,
but that’s an another story of nothingness,
into a room where trails of colors run dry, hive of sounds don’t buzz,
clusters of light doesn’t shines, darkness is no more delicious.
You can’t feel anything, but just are perfect misfit visualized as a
tabooed tattoo on the  face of society, and you ask them to sew your eyelids shut,
so that you never come out of the dead man’s wonderland.

 This is a world that belongs to a shade that follows you;
Someone lunatic enough to brush up your eroding fossil footprints like an archaeologist,
just to meet your monsters, that hide under the mysterious melodies of the sitar strings.
Be careful what you pick, cause you are hearing
and will be hearing the echoes into the eternity.