Sickness

My reflection has no beliefs

Wrapped in flesh

I think of the abstract

As an abstract I think of my proclivity

Thoughts :

move haphazard unwilling to make sense.

In the company of fools

I reverberate

Yesterday was simple

I was a man of few worries

and I collected drops of air

My ribs are paining

I am sick

I want a little food

however well fed I am underneath.

Shringi

June 04, 2011