lousy sunday evening

its about 5.12 in the afternoon now.
*sighs.
all my plans seem yellow and gray and bit of turquoise dot all over it .
its not about the dark cloud that slowly turning black, carrying the heaviest rains drop ever
again juga its not about the glass window breezing tick chill air from out side.

*yawn

as i wrote down
words fling over like a billions drops of tears into an overrated bowl of dead
Campbell mushroom
gathering my transaction executed:
lost, empty, numb, cold, lonely, dead, sick,
covering my fingers rhyming with my ugly lines.
as the line goes
i paste
i post
i read
i run
i forget
are somehow, pretty much nowhere to be found

to be honest
there just dope and sober lines gathered to get my point ahead
well really, really, really dope lines.
while the lines goes unraisable far.
far like far away land in peter pan tales
i realize there just no time left to fixed, this dead cells
time utterly illicit to made bargain of the outrage distortion i held
whats left and done made perfectly missed place.the outcome devastated and obliviously
cold
what should i pointed out, if m clueless
i look far beyond the sad eye of one's desire
there's a empty quote that rotate, along with hideous music play by my room mate
what a dwagg
this lost boy doesn't made out his point elsewhere
not loud as the thunder
or as fast as convert satria with 1.6 socket
nor as hot as led zep drummer
*smiling
the conclusion is

Im empty


blaming the situation
cursing people
ditching clique
ignored advice
harsh line
owing deeds
bad attitude
wrong turn
admiring you my friends

im sorry for that