13th Aug '10

Going going gone
Whatever remains, lie to it
And push that also away.
In the end it’s just me and me
Me with me.
Just me.
An air bubble floats still.
God know how it survived.
Will someone burst the bubble?
It makes me look back.
Faint thin black lines the nail beneath.
It’s dirt beneath my wings.
How can I fly?
In 2 3 4, out 2 3 4,
The end is not here still.