My zone

Like a panoramic balcony

Or a fast black bike,

My zone fits me.

Pins my feet down and my fingers up,

While my thoughts travel and evolve

Planning my version of my future.

It has a fresh breeze

Even when indoor

And always has a START sign.

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Train catcher

Rushing to the train
Is an art on its own
That only with intelligence you can master.
Quick and instinctive my steps
used to accelerate behind the illusion
Of being the first.
I was crashed and let alone on the track.
I learnt too appreciate each step
That with consciousness I stamp on the ground
And can guide myself faster to the station.

Revenge will

Routine and curiosity killed the cat.
After shouting questions falling in thin air
And donating uniqueness to a future not his,
The wise woman sits still and observes the decline.
A million scenarios run through his head
Some fascinating, some of no effort
And tickle his will of revenge