This light, is a lie played by this nice, rude dude staring at the ponderous skies of his fate
Is it too late? Late to lose because he snoozed by and against the cold light post?
Is it too late to sit down and take off the plastic crown while life moves around? “Is he lost?”,
says a traveller. “If his heart isn’t made of cheap metal, if he wasn’t a wretched feeble devil, if he wasn’t colder than a light post of this temperature level,
Why is it still standing and why must he rust?”
Indeed! Why is his blood boiling with pain while his face is frozen with what they call an expression of who they call sane
Why can’t he stand to fight for his right to smile back at the traveler clown tonight and decline the deposit of blame?
An ATM of shame serving the sinful bank of grins in God’s most gracious, most vindictive name
Him, the one once called The Stainless remains a stained bloodless, lifeless, prideful priceless piece of mindless hapless art down the drain
“Then… No chemistry. So why not reverse the laws and apply divinity?
Why not convert divergence and tickle infinity?
Why not Defrost and De-rust? Why not enslave pain when time stops?
Why won’t I drink the blood of the one God above all gods?” He thought…
Who is he? Who am I?
I am the all seeing eye who got him there to revitalize the circle… I’m everyone’s and nobody else’s God…
Noah… you brought it all to yourself. Your Birth, yourself, your flood… your Kamanha and your blood.
Kuwait Writing Club 