Hanging By The Wire
Rush Hours as time streams itself

Repetition. This zone. This is one of the most boring regions you can ever get trapped into.

Repetition. Same old shit. It’s like you are in a loop; loop you feel someday get centrifuged by, overthrown by. And suddenly you will wake up to this kafkaesque nightmare. Ending to realize that reality is in loop.

Sometimes. Sometimes you really hit the limit of what you can comprehend. Sometimes you feel your life has been lacking certain excitement to make you feel alive.

People. Here and there. Fast, slow. Or all still in a painted canvas.

Imagine yourself frozen in time in rush hours of timeless zombies living lives in their own ways.

Imagine yourself rushing ahead while people get frozen in time. You seamlessly blend into the world, fantasizing. Your ears covered in music that takes you to the places you seek in the dreams — the vivid colors of emotions and the gray scales of destiny.

We are all bombarded by these thoughts that tame us. We are all taken aback by the surprises of time yelling at us, to get out of the regions of eternal comfort.

The same old shit being played in a loop like that broken CD disrupting the motions of joy and freedom.

Like a pencil being stuck in an endless cycle of being sharpened and then blunt till you realize you aren’t able to draw sketches of your gray-scale dreams.

You are stuck.

“We are stuck. We aren’t set free.” — speaks the demon inside you, seducing your shadow to get detached by the rotten smells in the matrix.

Your existence is an endless loop.

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