He had stopped writing the journals
The pages were smelling of ****
Tramping around in the middle of nowhere
He had lost the utmost necessaties of existence
A paradoxical levity however defined the situation aptly
The truth was found in this surprisingly conventional existence
The officers questioned him about his whereabouts
To which he replied in a peeved tone
"I'd rather not talk about my alibi, I'm living my life my way for sometime now"
Moved about from the corners of the streets
He lay bricks on their expectations
Denuded mountains and a cask full of crippled hopes separated him from his loved ones
He spent his evenings gazing at the indescribable tint of the rainbow
With stardust captivating the left over soul
The tangibility of dreams mocked at his living
Fifty bucks and 2 unlit cigarettes
Was all he had for another months dormancy
The people were curious
They wanted to know what he desired for
All the snowbirds now are afraid of losing their children.