This clutter around,
I go into my cocoon,
With my moving surrounds,
Me and my music, is all that I live,
For moments filled with eternal bliss,
And then this head aches,
Of withdrawal symptoms too loud,
I need my drug, the clock shouts out,
My body too fragile, can collapse at you,
Don’t come near me,
I need my flashily dark sleep sans you,
The peace so restful, I have no clue,
What happened in my dream?
Waking, bizarre, dreaming, a blankitude,
The worn out eyes open blankly,
Not willing to live,
Nor give ‘life’ it’s due,
So the fan moves mercilessly,
Coz it can’t stop, Can you?
And in this moment,
I wish I had a lover,
Who would kill this life,
In a grayish black red of tones,
Liberation, emancipation, freedom,
From this life’s cocoon….
As I rise from my shack,
A tranquil one to be,
I step the “other world”
Entering the same monotony,
And the hammer hits my head,
People talk too much,
Me and my psychedelisia,
Yes! I’m a living dead…..