Waiting for the storm
The mercury is soaring.Few more degrees northwards and I'll watching out for the glass to crack and the silvery droplets dance on the floor.Outside my lazy labyrinth there are faces known and unknown.As the pages from the calendar flutters by the known faces fades into the unknown darkness and unknown faces spark out the known smiles.Tuned to the theme of the changing beats even my reflection in the mirror takes the cue.But with a sublime stubborness I cling on to the web of nostalgic montage hopefully to be spared by the rising hurricane that enventually engulfs us all.
The piercing lightening across the hanging cumulonimbus marks the fury that blows in with thundering claps.The filaments of my cocoon proves too delicate to shield me from the raging tempest.With each twist and turn of the raging gale another of my appendeges sheds into tiny bits.Finally when the lull sibsides the naked me stares down to find liberation amongst the wreckage.
