all we do here.

test a bridge, sit on water. hold our hands towards the sun and question questions. and reality here seems a pointless outcome. and the marks of life are lines on a face to come. all we do here is document, and try to vomit the rest. all we do here is find reason to protest. to speak out of time for volumes, nothing less. here we can breathe, but the oxygen talks back. we have converstation but the exhale is quite lax. here, the wind builds up coat pockets and down your sleeve. down to your last quid but your smoking free. are you sure you can commit here? are you sure there routine?..for you?..can your days fill up your night? can the red shake hands with the blue? will you sit on pots of gold while a rainbow keeps your back straight? can you throw it to the wind, can you leave it all to fate? the problem i have is i don’t belive in destiny, at least i know it changes every day. while heads ticks over thoughts, my tongue struggles for a sentence made. and with what accent will i shake hands with, can i wash them all the same? just like my unmade plans. here i write lists but i don’t bother to check. here i lack pride, here i deplore respect. the air is so thick, it sits on my shoulder like a fire in the distance it smoulders. but the fire doesn’t burn. 

here you take up the addictions that lay dormant in your mind. you leave them to the street, they put pace in your stride. MY GOD!..but he can’t hear you. MY PRAY!!…but wishes do not exist. the chance leaves blisters on your fingers, leaves heavy space to progress. why cant i stand here for even minutes. i’ll take off my clock and won’t hear its ticks. dumb to the future, happy to reflect.

all we do here is try to get out really. there’s no bones to it, we’re bored. all we do here is ponder. all that we solve, needs more. all we do here is nothing. not even a friend nor foe, we don’t have to stop, we won’t wait to go. we can’t leave or look behind. the truth is black soul. all we do is breathe and wait for life to know.

bel cristea london 2010