A mutiny within, through the randomness
of sensible thoughts; a sense of madness
of discourses of known past and present.
I fight for dancing speck of altitude of future
when multitude speaks in monotony of tire and disgust.
A void or a darkness, a silence or a despair
A motivation or a delusion,
I staggered on and on for an expectation of tomorrow.
An urge of protest, but a sense of character,
yet a display of regret for my own self.
Freedom is what I want
in solitude but through a space to breathe
through choices of present or future
or maybe of life.
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