Staring at the moments of the past and living them in my dreams. That is all there is left of my memories. And somehow, I seem to come across them a lot more often than before. Probably because the moment to live in nomore comes by that easy. All that Im surrounded by is a routine of Picking myself up in the morning and dropping of at night.
Clouded by the greed of money, life seems to have brought me to a dead end where I may do nothing but stare at the shades of red on the bricks before me. Fresh new bricks and discolored old ones, some have spiders crawling on them and some seem to be scratched upon. This is my tube of discolored dreams that has made me lean my neck up high and search for a way over the top of this dead end. Or should I try breaking a hole and squeezing through ? That I must decide. I may even find this spot comfortable and stay here, forgetting the lovely shapes of the clouds that the open sky offered me and choose to let these rectangles shape me.
