Should there always be a title?

Just another trail of muddling euphoria. Maybe.

Excues after excuse. Keep pushing up the slide. I want you to know. Just that every breath is as individual as it can be. And the only reason is because each of us has to take it. But never fight for it. What is this all about? Most of my sentences end up as questions.

Up and down. What sense does this make?


All I'm seeking is my place in the Sun. Why do you elude me?Won't you let me in?

Touched.

I wouldn't know.Couldn't.The words have left. Sincerely,yours.

Pulled out,tugged at.A sirocco burns his way out of me. But where will you go,I asked him?

You'd be just another without the labels of my choking pain,I said to him.

He laughed as he always did. He left either way.

Apparently,there is no pain.