I sit here dreaming,
of life, death and beyond,
of music, sex and love,
of hearts that I have pawned;

Of spit balls and straws,
and chewing-gum tangled hair,
of snow-lions and tigers,
and basket stealing bears;

Of school, college and work,
and everything in between,
of the times I got fucked over,
and still came out looking clean;

Of all the pain and sadness,
the hunger and the rain,
of droughts in the deserts,
and happiness just the same;

Of porn stars and sex slaves,
bondage and leather vests,
of clean-shaven pussies,
and pink perky breasts;

Of travels and riches
and drinking on the street,
of driving butt-naked,
and the jail cell mystique;

I dream now, of death,
in these flashes of life,
and death seems like payment,
for all the years of bending over.

And we are all prostitutes.
Naked and spread out on a beautiful starry sheet,
painted on the walls of this pseudo-random reality.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar