, ,

it is about an opaque man

Occupied with himself and his choices

He is about to go burst

Before the arrival of his times

Much away from his original self

He is burdened by burning colors

Colors always brought him chaos

His pale pulses reminded him

He is about to go burst

In the heap of thoughts

He has played all his cards

In the vestige of a street

He has overheard all the prophesies

In the air of conspiracies

He has been through luminous times

He has seen the edges of visceral affairs

It is all opaque and sinking deep dense

No more vision and insights

From this fuming dust and dithering lenses

Now we know for sure

Even pitch blend blends better than his thoughts