Shackles of Whateveremotion

I was walking down a busy street
And then I smelled something familiar,
Something that never wanted to be so.
Sweet an then it becomes bitter,
The scent of ten years ago, like
Watching butterflies being stabbed.

It was a curious time in history,
Living in-between two same countries,
The heat of the century, it was back then.
Some turn hundred, some go down to zero,
Some are just plain twenty four,
And they don't know what they're looking for.

It was a great time for a carnival, not,
April has drawn May, June and July,
A bad idea has got to meet its own end.

They dance about in racerback tops,
I am standing still, not moving,
Has it just rained on my parade?
I don't know.

And just like that, the scent was gone
There was nothing but tired car fumes,
Something that has always been the same.
Spinning, and then I realise I'm dizzy,
The gravity of right here and now, like
Fearing the pavement and the shadows.

It is the paperbag blackspot of history,
Living in-between two hateful worlds,
The worst times of past decades, right now.
Some turn hundred and ten, some go left,
Some are just plain thirty four,
That one never knew what it's all for.

You've bought yourself this nice reality,
Where you don't use regular, simple words,
And darn, did it cost a lot.

I've bought myself this great uncertainity,
Where regular is like simple outside the moulds,
And darn, do I pay it a lot.

They dance about in high wasted jeans,
I am standing still, not moving,
Has it really been a decade?
I don't know.

- April 13th, 2017

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