Awkward in the corner of a waiting room, right next to the old magazines.
Uneasy, like a fish pulled up against the light.
Black day, curiously attractive white light.
Just as comfortable as watching well-oiled axis of rail cars ride by above.
Maybe there is something outside the window, maybe not.
Not.
Ask the lady again for no particular reason.

Hurting like a bitch and wearing a shit excuse for clothes.
These stains are definitely staying.
Suddenly a voice:
"Snap out of it.
No blood, can't hurt.
Go home."

You raised the window into a frame and said, as the wind against our faces came to a sudden dead halt, something about the mirror.

What if it is me staring back?
I mean, I have heard them say that even the strongest of armies will die away if shame makes them disappear.
If mirrors really leave men in crumbs.

You raised the window into a frame and said, as the wind against our faces came to a sudden dead halt, that glasses sung in the breeze.
All the way until now.

Oh crap.
What if it is me staring back?
I too have heard them say that even armies will die away if shame makes them disappear.
If mirrors really leave men in crumbs.

Gotsta look somewhere else.
There, small puddles of muddy water.
Liquid disgust in pools.

Only to paint sorrow on pride.
Paint the pain, if you will.
A reflection that is the truth, maybe.

You raised the window into a frame and said, as the wind against our faces came to a sudden dead halt, than men break down as words.

If mirrors really leave men in crumbs.
Fucking bollocks.
Armies break down if they cannot stand the shame.
My ass.
There are no mirrors big enough.
Besides, if you don t like the picture, just don t look, right?
And remain brave, blind and pull the trigger.

Relax.
It is possible to simulate a falling.
Just find a slope with a low friction surface.

Add gravity and voila.
Down you go, although according to the tag, death or serious injury may occur in the process.
No such tags exist on the daily programme.
Defence programme.

Pre-emptive search for enemies.
The orders are to stand still until green and remain cruel.

Otherwise punishment may occur, OK.

Our precious community is out there tonight to look for potential hazards.
Looking out the window, it would seem that one just whizzed round the corner.
Chased about the city in a nice worship ritual.
Oh, sorry, must attend a TV shop ceremony.
Cram more useless information into ever smaller clusters.
Whoa.
And look, an isometric workout programme where flesh is contested by brute mechanic force.
In fact, this might work for me too.
Keep me in shape and in good spirits.
Morale is important.
I can already feel the difference.
More backbone, more strength.
I know what they say.
Don't walk until green.
Don't show weakness, which is pure evil.
Otherwise, death or serious injury may occur.

Looking at your face is like staring into a void.
I brought you back.
You show me your face.
Children laugh and play.
In chains you drag your
feet to the marketplace.
You smile like a child.
You are not deceived.
You had dreams before.

The sun rises in a pillar of flame.
You hide in a fortress of sadness.
I never knew you.
Your shoulders bend for a statue in living rock.
Operculum of silver, the sculptor signs his name.
Sun devours moon with relish.
I am a scent on the sighing breeze, an ever-rising laugh like bells.

Caught in the sphere of your umbra, the sun sets like a wound of scarlet.
Do not let these words confuse you.
You are looking for a message you left behind.
Staring at the horizon.
My heart is filled with fever.
Your diplomacy beats down on me and promises rain.
It has been a long time since I felt a fear of life.
You promised to share the alchemy of your gaze with me.
It burns through your ozone and I dissolve.

Looking at your face is like staring into a void.
I brought you back.
You show me your face.
Children laugh and play.
In chains you drag your
feet to the marketplace.
You smile like a child.
You are not deceived.
You had dreams before.

The sun rises in a pillar of flame.
You hide in a fortress of sadness.
I never knew you.
Your shoulders bend for a statue in living rock.
Operculum of silver, the sculptor signs his name.
Sun devours moon with relish.
I am a scent on the sighing breeze, an ever-rising laugh like bells.

Caught in the sphere of your umbra, the sun sets like a wound of scarlet.
Do not let these words confuse you.
You are looking for a message you left behind.
Staring at the horizon.
My heart is filled with fever.
Your diplomacy beats down on me and promises rain.
It has been a long time since I felt a fear of life.
You promised to share the alchemy of your gaze with me.
It burns through your ozone and I dissolve.

Which bloody fucking ones of these are pieces of me?
The entire goddamn street is scattered with me.

What the hell was I thinking?
As if I would not get my ass whooped black and blue by singing those things out loud.
A break in the clouds.
A pitiful excuse for a go signal.
No one really wants anything different.
So let me just get my shit together, gather my limbs, broken glasses and teeth, spit the metal out of my mouth and get real.

No, no.
This is not...definitely not a problem.
More like a situation.
Let me just walk the fuck away from here.
As far as possible from the mercury street.

Came the black
Named white
Came the dark
Named light
Came the captors
Named liberators
Came the wrongs
Named rights
The bills and power
The poisons of printing press
The guns and clubs
Justice and jails
And above all, the frenzy of using all above.

There is a strange silence
When rifles are placed in hands
When steel is resisted
By grey weak walls of
Ghosts fed only by fear.

Knee and head both ache.
No picture on the TV, but a voice is speaking.
A piece of paper arguing with reasons for immediate evacuation.
Now notice how I am slipping today.
All of these bruises remind me of a fine day.

Bags wait.
And wait.
Name tags, pale and blank, wait too.
Not much waiting in the fridge.
Me?

Slipping away but not going anywhere.
Bruises left from the passing day.
Crumbs on my skin and pink men dancing in my eyes.
The sound of something in my ears, still.
Hey, wonder if these walls could hear?
Wish they could speak too.
It would be nice for a change.

A piece of paper with my name on it.
It means I am someone.

Knee and head both ache.
No picture on the TV, but a voice is speaking.
A piece of paper arguing with reasons for immediate evacuation.
Now notice how I am slipping today.
All of these bruises remind me of a fine day.

Bags wait.
And wait.
Name tags, pale and blank, wait too.
Not much waiting in the fridge.
Me?

Slipping away but not going anywhere.
Bruises left from the passing day.
Crumbs on my skin and pink men dancing in my eyes.
The sound of something in my ears, still.
Hey, wonder if these walls could hear?
Wish they could speak too.
It would be nice for a change.

A piece of paper with my name on it.
It means I am someone.

Gusts of rain outside.
Almost sleet.
A smart-ass populated pub right next to ground zero.
All idiots with ringing ears watch a breath drain away at the heels of a blast.
Only a coal of a cigarette alive, twitching outside the bloody window.
Outside, where diesels cry their cold.

Inside a million warm homes, football on channel two.
Death feast on channel one, watched as

it were a ballgame.
Elsewhere, there is someone holding a medal and blithering two thousand words a minute about guilt.
A sort of threat that one too.
Which is why his room is soft and round.
Which ones of those words, dreams, ghosts are his?
Waiting endless hours for the call, for a voice that would say how the bullet meant for the bird had wandered away.
But no.

Should his illness spread in the public, things could get serious.
Machines might not work if the right buttons are not pushed.

Among the calls for silence, whizzing leaks of gas, broken statues, splinters and a sorry ass someone with a badly ruined day.
Nails already start to rust.
Just like the sun behind all that bloody smoke.
Goddamn.
It is not just smoke.
It is a camouflage of our fear.
Of each other.
Who are strangers.
Who are evil.
In reaction, streets are covered in glimmering glass, again.
Crap only deeper, again.
Only, we cannot see it through the smoke.

The smoke is more than the day's breath
Like a cloak to hide our depth of fear
Are we waiting for that first blast
For pieces of glass to ring on the street?