Souvenir From a Brick Pink Dream

Condition number one
for me to enter this world
was to be indifferent.

It tastes like vacuum
this word, 'indifferent'.

It is however
lighter than you would want it to be.
For it is also as
unobtrusive as a venomous snake
in passing;
who has had its fill
quite recently.

It is heavier than you can imagine.
For my daily melancholy
seeps thorough my invisible wounds
down into the black tar
that has made all the roads
that the 'people of the world'
walk upon.
It falls faster than it should have;
like an anchor dropped
from heaven
to cross this ocean of dreams that
makes up the air we breathe.





My vision, on certain days
just fails to give me what
I deserve.
Every colour
is ruthlessly metamorphosed
into Brick Pink.
And when I turn my
brick pink tinted vision 
to watch myself read
myself
everyday,
I consume whatever's left of my indifference
on a brick-pink colored platter
with brick like food
and pink flavors.

My indifference is my only
entity that I own beyond myself
My only possession in a world
diagnosed with
consumerism
My only solace in the battlefield
of angst
My only inspiration
that lets me board the 8.34
every morning.