I try to be as realistic as much I can
Yet, then find escape in imagination
I sit down, my readings in front of me
A paper with my writings and some drawing
A bottle of wine which I took from work
The red liquid slips, burning, down my throat
Clearing my mind, calming the waves
And a song I listen to
Swallowing me deeper in the mood that I already drowned in
Fragments of thoughts jump from a fortress to another
I open my mouth and place the traditional food in my mouth;
Food my grandmother made, back home
Memories, wishes and analysis, cannot leave, their freedom exceeds the limits
I am realistic, and I know that I sit in front of the table
And the rest of my imagination is just fantasy
Red burning flame slips inside
I write and draw
Time moves … I take another sip
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