grey

something is amassing

in my stomach.

a frightening shame,

an unrepairable tilt

at my very core,

a damage

from the weight of my own self.

i see my reflection

in the window,

but it isn't me.

the city is grey

covered in fog.

and in the distance

i can hear my own tiny voice crying for help.

there it was

i am waiting for some awakening,

but now i'm caught up in electrical cables.

it's always late at night before i start feeling,

and the internet is getting smaller

-closing in on me.

certain songs, i can't listen to them anymore.

we don't agree like we used to.

i need that awakening,

more now then any high.

listen to those songs,

don't lose your mind,

i tell myself.

not now, when you're so close.

there it was

-a sudden trace of emotions.

and now it's gone.

the end

there is data in the air

they do the dreaming

and i do the sleepwalking

the old men across the street

in the park, vomiting

pigeons feasting on their insides

and the air is sick

with messages no-one can decipher

a static outlining of sorts

fiberoptics, radiotowers

they do the dreaming

we are data-language

a vision of zeros and ones

i do the walking

in the sky, a thousand butterflies

a misguided fligh

into a reverse metamorphosis

cocoons falling from above

the panic, mesurable

in the echo of the vicious hail

what happened to their dream?

knee-deep in larvae, i sleepwalk

there is data in the air