White tee & a torn jeans'

Hell-speaks a voice lost, confined in realms of past,
In grievance I wear white at last.
A ride & a thought, indifferent today to sun-beats..
Not mine-the gravel ground, nor the lies that the world sees.
To celebrate the tatters, rugged is my faded blue jeans.

'It’s raining somewhere, a frail sprout’s first..
The brusque breeze frisks where a routine path,
Scoffed today will it by a bird’s newborn.
White the skies, grazes my eyes & turns green.
(Another moment that lingers before being passé)
A knee-jerk, a twirl of wrist, down comes my iridium screen,
A gush of that wind, headlong the will becomes grit..
Thumb beats & in time’s clicks,
Over here in finished a life’s one dream,
A roar & blurred wind-screen..
Archives of mine are lost in adrenaline'