Herds of warped opinions rolling around the ditch, she stumbled into the love wrapped in dull words and wandered off naked into the sunset without a worry in her head. That was my mistress, that was yesterday. I’m back on the road with a head full of ideas and boots waiting to scramble off somewhere, anywhere, just out of here, somewhere nice, where the trees kiss your heart and the sky is high and the birds speak the truth. Somewhere where i can find her again, fall into her arms and end this madness out here in the streets.
But it is too late, i’ve grown to weak, the shelter is all i want. Somewhere to hide from the masked men and to escape the toxic needles, somewhere in the past where the air is fresh and the water is pure, somewhere where you don’t have to act out, play roles that can’t exist, be forced into submission, jailed with the nitemare of the masses and their destructive dreams, somewhere, there must be a somewhere.
writing and images by patrick wey