My wardrobe does not contain pretty dresses or cosy jumpers My wardrobe is not where I go to smell fresh cotton or to hang up my coat after a walk in the rain My wardobe is where I find my fraying armour at 6am it is where I pick my favourite mask any mask to hide my truth I pick the mask with cherub cheeks and eyes that light the room i pick the mask that cloaks my sodden cheeks and tie is thrice around my face Drilling nails down into my skull dare it not slip away My wardrobe does not contain pretty dresses or cosy jumpers It holds everything I hide and bury deep and safe inside.
already running in circles, still care about drawing lines.
Maybe humans found a way out of their humdrum existence through the division of anything and everything. But that's not even the worst part. Unfortunately, it seems that humans never learn and the loop goes on.
Routine - Wake up and brush your teeth Bath and go to eat Leave the house looking neat Cause there's "important" people you might meet Get home and eat Do what you have to before going to sleep Next morning, repeat. - This is what life is suppose to be Live in a routine until your 6 feet deep Out there, noone really cares how you feel As long as obey to societies needs Your life is complete - I don't believe in déjà vu anymore Everyday is the same thing Nothing is new anymore Yet life is unique, oh please Ask yourself this Are you alive or just on repeat? - Lowkie®
Whenever there is urge to kiss you , I go by the screen , a small peck. Perhaps , leg pillow have done the match to replace nuzzle assumption. Same state but different city is fascinating one way at time.
I've always preferred finding out what time it was by looking at the watches of strangers, Preferably on a morning carriage where the forgotten time difference from fading holidays meet the eternally shaken bracelets Strangers, on their way to an oversized office smelling like old tea and leftover birthday cake.
My eyes, moving from one being to the next, wondering if they woke up in their own bed. Disparate attires or obedient consumerism, smells of cologne and *****, unironed shirts and loose ties, Remains of a night too quickly ended or of a morning that started off wrong. Strangers, burning the courage to face the dread of small talk talk and mindless tasks.
A half hour turnover of faces, smells and stories, Strangers, unknowingly sharing their lives with me.