Tuesday, 9 June 2015


So I’m gone.
It’s hard to believe it myself. I’m charred. I’m without breath.
I just traded my day’s work for meagre wages. Sadly, fate blinded me to my own resignation.
On my way back, I called just to re-assure her despite the hours late.
I had no idea. That I would be late in a trotro standing in burning currents.
Who’s going to tell my story?
The story of my lost dreams. Dreams of living happily ever after with my queen.
Visions of growing old with her and our little twins.
I thought life was getting better. But I guess his evil brother was lurking.

So I’m gone.
It’s hard to imagine it. Because my imagination turned to coal.
I wish I hadn’t followed my dreams. I wish I stayed at home and feigned sickness.
And allowed my lack of ethics blow me further away from this blaze.
I wish I'd stayed at home.
And neglected the damned red, brown and green vanities.
Who’s going to tell it?
When I’m left speechless, drowned and drenched in the inferno that still rages.
Raging fiercely and forever till I’m forgotten.

In my trotro’s hell.