i don't know my favourite
colour or the greatest film
i've seen

i know very little about
this world

i know even less about
everything

everyday i wake up and
write some of it down

and i watch the same
people do the same things
over and over

that's all they
know

and when they ask me
what my favourite colour
is

i lie and i tell them that i
enjoy all colours

that my favourite film
is a Clockwork Orange by
Stanley Kubrick

that i read books and
how politicians are ruining
the society

i want them to say
you're so great avi you
know so much about the
world

i want them to see
more of me so i see
less of them

and more they
see of me the less i
care

for i know they have
a favourite colour

i know they know
lyrics to their favourite
songs

and they've seen a
movie ten times and
remember all of it

how bored i am
of their constant
knowing

their constant
listening

there's no scarcity
of men and women who
think they know things

but have so little
to say

it's better to not
know than be bright
and boring

better to be
miserable and not laugh
than to be so mechanical
and submissive

most people are
not free

because they know
too much

at some point knowing
becomes a permanent
burden

too heavy for any
evolution to repair

that's when you
stop to live and start
to die

and i don't want
to die just yet

and i don't want to
be mundane

i don't want the
answers or want to know
my favourite colour

i simply don't want to
be boring.

.

stranded, here in this
infinite room

darkness falls through
the ages

pages turn old and
rust, the winds cease
to whisper

heavy air sits in the
corner with me

in deafening silence
of another autumn

how many days have
passed me by?

i must be so old now

i remember i was
young once

that i lived under a
blue sky,

and i must be so old now.



@writeweird

haunt me my heart
of october

forged remains of the
days spent in disguise

breathing, always breathing
settled in ruins

caught in the arms of
the morning thought

swirling in strokes of
the painted nights

how far has sun
come to rule?

for mine is the
house of summer

where she haunts
me still

old photographs melt
into the moonlight

to never stay in
dusk

for mine is the colour
of her design

drawn on the edge
of my despair

castle of decay melting
into the melancholy

a glance in memory
but unfamiliar

silent tears prying
into the wilderness

how far has sun
come to rule

how long has it been?

settled in ruins

caught in the arms of
a morning thought

swirling in strokes of
the painted nights

how far has sun
come to rule?

for mine is the
house of summer

where she haunts
me still

old photographs melt
into the moonlight

to never stay in
dusk

the house of april


september skies
summer stars

faults within me

expanding into the
night

flaws within me

birthing autumns
morrow

sowing the seeds
of wilderness

in the eye of
nothingness

stark as reality  

stands still a
home

false within me










@writeweird

.

what paints the house
in swirl of the night

what lurks in the shadows
the unknown?

a fleeting glimpse
of reality

or just a distant glare
in nothingness

held together by the
summers greed

falling asleep in arms
of tomorrow

resting in old photographs
collecting dust

in wilderness that comes
with dying dusk

hunted by the ends
we seek  

barely ever breathing



@writeweird