My eyes closed
in a sea of crowd,
watching colour dance
on canvas after canvas.

I stood still
in a corner,
plotting an escape
disguised as apathy.

I asked, "are we the same,
or are we different?"
My echo made no decision.

Ghost made of dust haunt us
between ceilings and walls,
so we write our names in full
on small tags.

Blue ink hits the ground
as incredulous drops,
pretending to be life stories
beneath debris.

Shall we remember
Should we ponder
with those intoxicated brain cells
better known as souls?

Tomorrow, maybe-
tomorrow.

Twisting a dry towel,
a red tide emerges between my fingers.
Drips, escapes
from my boiling skin.

Writing a silent song,
a pen lies flat on top of the paper.
Dies, fades away
from my frantic muse.

Thus I begin my pursuit,
gaining an inch of flesh,
losing a strand of hair
with
every
step.

Punch a key,
make insipid confessions
in your cubicle.

Punch the key,
send contradicting truths
on your beds.

And press 'Publish',
an hopeful attempt to transcend theoretical virtues
from Starbucks
or a coffee shop of

your choice.

Billions of hearts murmur
under the same moon
on a murky Sunday.

"Help me."

Take them
straight out of the humidor,
hang them out to dry.

Observe, and
write me a report.

Ten pages, double-spaced.

Love
the development the roads the bright reflection the hundreds of thousands of stories the moisture the warmth of humanity the fusion of worlds the pride of accomplishment through years of striving.

Hate
destruction,
concrete,
blinding rays,
hundreds of thousands of identical manikins,
humidity,
heat of corpses,
disabled hybrid of cultures
shame of losing sanity year by year.