This is not a poem

Mornings
Bus rides, uniform, bus stop
walkman, music
goodbye, hello, railings of the interchange
gum, cigarettes
group of funny looking people

empty green land
darkness surrounds
lift, void deck
by the bay
more music and instruments
madness amidst loud, bursting noise

phones calls
much about nothing
slurred converstions
head in the fridge
drunken moments, where the aeroplanes land
a familiar crook of the arm, it fits i suppose

a mother and brother
closed door
she never knocked, he looked the other way
a room full of people, screaming and shouting
yet we were alone
it was a cold, rainy night
when my mother believed me

OK, there is no code to crack here. It is not supposed to make sense. This is just what happens if I type out words randomly the moment they flash in my head. And this is what happens if you have been on MC for 3 weeks and get hooked on DVDs.

I am in no mood to start work. The momentum has been permanently disrupted. Luckily June holidays is just round the corner. I need to get lost even more and I can't do that when I am supposed to teach 40 kids. I can't do that when I am 30 and have a boy of 3. Lately, music has been my saving grace but some music reminds me of something or someone or someplace which is not at all pleasant.

Not doing anything is addictive. Until it reaches the point of boredom, that is.