Friday, December 4, 2009



Green grass
No marijuana 
Just weeds
But no weeds
Of illegal kind
Just weeds
Crowding my face
Crowded space
Can't breathe
Asthamic pace
No inhaler of space
Just fumes
Clouded smoke
Jobless interviews
Parental advisors
My personal being
On this earthly couch
Remote in hand
Ideas travelling around My imaginary lightbulb -
Nothing lit
Dimmed light
Only seen a few feet
Distance reached with imaginary hands
As if I was the lighthouse
To guide them their... 
Emotions despair
Floating above sea
Competing with fish
On how many circles 
Upstreams we go in
Until we reach a place
Of comfortness
Of whether it makes sense
Like this poem
I wrote on the iPhone
Sitting @ home
Waiting .... For a job
Waiting for patience..
Waiting for it all to make sense..