the place where nothing happens

sitting under the cold of the electric lamp, today writing the story where nothing happens.

all the faces looking at me, kind and warm smiles passing by while i'm trying to forget about the duties of my life; duties i accepted reluctantly with open arms; duties that now stand on my way and i can't find an option for.

at some point of time, not too early, not too late, the words jump out of the screens and a certain gloom of expands over the aisles turning heads and turning voices around in anger and confusion when the clown strikes with his threatening crap and it only makes me laugh, but my hands are busy on a different issue.

just when i thought i was going to turn the corner and turn my way into a new horizon, all of a sudden i go around to the same place i started years ago, only this time i will embrace the contents of the wreck and hold on to them, i'm not going to run away, i will go down with it and make everything mine, because it is my life anyway, because i choose to have it this way. i will see her walking away, and i will let her go.

just speak your mind, let yourself run your mouth, it is all about it.

doesn't matter if you are full of shit, or if you found a fountain of profound intellectual inspiration, just run your mouth and let everybody know what's on your narrow head, even if we don't speak the same language i can still get the meaning of your bitching and that's all right, i have no problem with you, since you don't mean anything to me, just don't tell me about your guns.

so another day ends in under the cold of the electric lamp, in the place where nothing ever happens.