UnpreDICKtable life, unknowing tomorrow, clueless you, but a hope lingers, keep aside sorrow.. Short life, it could be my last note, never know what's in store, a substantial note or a bloat.. I play the flute with a tune, I play the game with a purpose, the day I stop playing, I'll be friction less on that surface.. What if I collapse before clicking on the publish button, what if you crash into a bloody coffin, the moment comes by as a lucky charm, what's the safest bet you can place today, life's without relief, or balm.. My mother told me about an incident of a colleague, I'm down writing because it didn't evaporate my greed.. To puke out these emotions on a fucking friday night, as the world brings in the gala weekend, I write to remove an ugly plight.. The broom lies in a corner for it to be used again, but each passing day, it's dying with no pain.. Withering branches, corroded buildings, soon you'll be immune to the touch and tickling.. I survived 3 minutes and I'm about to share this note, just realized death also competes, and the competition is cut throat..
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