Rack Fuel

Feeling the breaths move from forms and the streets with their alleys built to cradle. Quick calls for far away lust. Dreary boredom never gains a foothold. The lives are not to be shared by some, and not to be held to light. Dissected and equated. There are the usual protagonists and dealers of dreams. Wanted. So Wanted. Maybe it will all work out. But even if disaster and pain was inevitable, the lust and smiles would still try.
I gave a bum fifty euros, watched a wild weirdo attack a bar, tangled my limbs on the dance floor, and still my mind races with Fire.