Steep ridge of life

Tomorrow never comes until it’s too late, all mistakes are already expedited into full reality. And this madness rules the deviant residue of thoughts as a consequence of this moral corruption, a madness that can never be undone. In the heat of the summer, jacked affection for living remains, twisted as it is, perverted to the bone, only another form of stability.

Years by now mark this living on the edge, occult dancer maintaining steady balance on the steep ridge of life, choosing willingly insomnia that also can’t be undone. Because days are way too bright, and nights are only short for what needs to be done. Actions have erased any trace of lines, and what lies ahead can’t be taken into account, nothing is predictable anymore, it beckons… all awaits undreamed.

In the forgotten need for silence of my untamed astonishments…