Frank Hammersith

Blank

Blank.
There was nothing to write about. The question is, why do I keep writing then?

Yes. But there is no other way, but to put thoughts on the paper, to give the inner-me some liquidity.
Give me credit.

But my wish is only imaginative now, the relativity I feel is immensely appropriate.

I live in the circle, but not in circles.

The streets I am walking, the laughter I hear..
Irreplaceable is obvious.
What does that suppose to mean?
That I want you to be absent.

Present, more likely.
Tonight is my night.
To be lived and to be skipped, hah..
You live and skip it too.

Give me my share
Entrust me the stock.
Provoke me to care.

Let’s go for a walk again
Down the Godollo street.
But let’s not make it until the end
Since I will have to write in vain again..

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