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I am sleepless on a strange land.

Urban love*

What are you doing under my skin?

I am sun burnt, on a cloudy winter day
Color blind in wonderland
Speechless, a witness in a court
Deaf in a Pink Floyd concert
Lost in my own apartment
Thirsty in a pool of wine

Nothing is making any sense.

A thought

For a person to go through this thing called life
S/he has to be either a poet or a suicidal

All other flesh bound entities
That do not fit these two categories
Do not exist

They live
From the mere lack of death

But they do not exist.