This is a scheduled post planned to be published at 18.9.2016 at 14:27
My head doesn't kiss marble floors, nor my arms swerve clockwise inside a church. I don't read from left to right, or upside down. For when I'm scared, I play good music. I don't pray or fast. And the ammunition I brandish are questions no one dares to ask. Also, newspapers and a pocket full of reasons. Not written scriptures. I don't believe in symbols of religion. Or colours. Because last I checked, it's all red underneath. My head doesn't kiss marble floors, nor my arms swerve clockwise inside a church. I don't read from left to right, or upside down. For when I'm scared, I play good music. I don't pray or fast. And the ammunition I brandish are questions no one dares to ask. Also, newspapers and a pocket full of reasons. Not written scriptures. I don't believe in symbols of religion. Or colours. Because last I checked, it's all red underneath.
18.9.2016 at 14:27