I sit in a park in central London.
Observing the passers by,
with skins of coco, porcelain and almond
we are unified by this thing called being human.
As the blur of faces pass,
I wonder about occupation...past life...
the things that go through everyone's minds.
Even the,
buying tomorrows chicken, going to go fishing
staying up past 10, staring at the kitchen.
Sometimes solitude can be overwhelming
I wish someone would ask how I'm doing.
But this city is not for friends
for I could talk to a silver statue and still feel warmer
that when I'm with you.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
I sit in a park in central London.
Observing the passers by,
with skins of coco, porcelain and almond
we are unified by this thing called being human.
As the blur of faces pass,
I wonder about occupation...past life...
the things that go through everyone's minds.
Even the,
buying tomorrows chicken, going to go fishing
staying up past 10, staring at the kitchen.
Sometimes solitude can be overwhelming
I wish someone would ask how I'm doing.
But this city is not for friends
for I could talk to a silver statue and still feel warmer
that when I'm with you.
