Their ultimate goal was forgetting and getting forgotten. Through this masochistic act of sorrow they could get lost in the world and find a place, a room of their own, to build their Rick Blain Cafes, staying forever in their imaginary Casablanca and waiting for that very day to come and those who once left them behind find them by a blind chance of one in billions. A torture for the self to cause regret in their hearts.
You like to hide me?
like a stolen apple from Eden?
like a tomato for a president?
like something to be enjoyed alone?
no complaints!
only warnings!
Be ware,
the price is good,
the cost is high.
Mornings, mine.
evenings, him.
oh! Burn the hours!
burn the calendars!
the Hijries
the Solars
the Gregorians
burn it all!
I have a black-hole inside.
Amnesia overdrive
Near the paraphilia ride
For a surf over the depression tide
Fool!
Leave your pervert rhyme
Your homosapiens is overthrown
So
Get drowned!
Get dawned!
Get sheltered in books
Within the lines and binds
Oh! Blessed is the mother of words,
Holy and heathen,
Who in her shadows
We call our demons.
I see him coming out. I search my mind for the question. He passes me. I
run..."Hey...Hey...Tell me...what happens when they would have drinked all
night up to the last drop. What happens to four of them?...what happens to
that fast food store? what happens to daylight creeping over the kitchen
table....?". He is a few steps ahead. No answer. Just a glance from the
corner of his eye...I shout..."Hey, Ray!Answer me..."...He's gone...