lurking through the street hoping, dreaming, begging to skip it.
the amount of faceless places are about to get rid of us.
the great search of vanished traces is the sign we are far and deep in ruts.
in my arm the breath is hidden. my mind is full of misery and litter.
everything is sold.
for me, for people lurking in the street, for a man trying to skip it and for those who bold and for that man that doesn't listen.