a canary yellow cage

I ride the streets in my canary yellow cage. Loud and scary at 1am. I drop a friend; I drive. The streets are empty. Completely fucking empty. Parked vehicles but there’s nothing moving on the roads. I come home. Stuck in the middle of bad voodoo. A cloud hung over me like stale cigarette smoke and powder from a snooker joint. Light a hundred cigarettes right now or my bad voodoo will rub off on you. I hurry to lock the gate. Come inside. Don’t wake anybody up. You do not want questions. Paranoia. Very powerful. I write as I think and most of what is say will be rubbish just as this is. I will delete all of this or maybe not. Maybe I’ll put it up on chronicles. Nobody reads that anymore. Hehehehehe… hundred cigarettes. What I meant was write without thinking. Thank you. Or maybe not.