Frank Savage

Frank Savage / Writings

~1972

22 August 2015

In Transit Outro




Surrounded by strangers. Why am I here, constantly my mind drifts to death, the release I know I don’t need but can not stop seeking, dying. Things turned real a long time ago, anther step forward as the hours continues to reflect back, always a new one releasing the old.

Mindless drifters passing in and out of my vision. Grey eyes, pale skin. Tired disappointments and rejecting stares, thoughts of what to come and what was left behind. Careless self preservation lets the barricade stand firm against wanting intruders. Drifters with love and life nearby surely, mornings with tasks ahead and a life to prolong. All masters of their own universe. Useless, dead and unwanted in time, ones time.

Understanding the matter of self, zero is nil. A new day is appearing, another cycle complete to start over again. All is standing still, time a measurement of controlling the timeless moment.  






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