The left overs were buried, the ground flattened. Its like when you hit mute after a chaotic delirium , the quiet that follows, deafens you. Then you know, for sure, that there will be no signs of life, lets remove the uncertainty, lets say there is no sign of life.
This ground zero is a mega plot of my existence.
If you go out for a casual stroll, you'll find parts of me, strewn around the trains, the beaches, the pavements. Like remnants of an exploded bomb, not the destruction the bomb caused, no not that, the remnants of the time bomb itself. The leftovers.
I always felt combustible within the city, the sense of explosion always kept ticking. It was cruel, but so is hope, all variants of it.
Sometime these past years, it ticked off, the ground zero is no longer a flat plateau, studded with valleys, volcanoes and trenches. They say this is life, sigh!
there's no escaping, is there?
This ground zero is a mega plot of my existence.
If you go out for a casual stroll, you'll find parts of me, strewn around the trains, the beaches, the pavements. Like remnants of an exploded bomb, not the destruction the bomb caused, no not that, the remnants of the time bomb itself. The leftovers.
I always felt combustible within the city, the sense of explosion always kept ticking. It was cruel, but so is hope, all variants of it.
Sometime these past years, it ticked off, the ground zero is no longer a flat plateau, studded with valleys, volcanoes and trenches. They say this is life, sigh!
there's no escaping, is there?
