Expositions, Etcetra

The magazine cover page had a picture Strange, Out of the norm. All those expositions of creative writing are not pure and divine, nor sober as well. A hypothetical extravaganza of law-breaker laws. There is no validity of empty or full glass No chance of any logical input , there. Breaking that glass introduces the possibility Ultimate materialization of the ulterior climax Little to do with a softer pencil mark No way to erase that either. Permanent stains, long-lasting, durable. Sophist hallucination of a strange life One cannot deny anything through escapism Thinking aloud, Thinking a lot. But then, why me? I am just nobody With a sky darkened with ages of improbable fall out. Perhaps, there is not much left But to be red through emotions, red like blood. Red, a hot-headed color. My meager plate gets lost with innumerable calculations of priorities... and the room floor with hypothetical extenuations everything, everywhere. A series of happenings of world with no far-reaching continuity A groaning pain of a hopeless night, and a day too. Thinking aloud, thinking a lot.