Visually enriched individuals; you flee where you wish to, and close your eyes with the view last in mind.
Nationwide and far away; you meet peoples whom I only read about in books and see diversity in another world.
I wish I could say that I didn't envy you. But I really do;
For sure I have some beloved locations, for sure I meet my family, but in this particular case I'm an empty body, to wish something, I should fear being silenced.
My mind stores it all;
I've engraved the mountains in my head and locked them tightly in my memories, I remember faces, prices, expressions and sounds, my senses get perplexed in a really good way.
I hope to flee and not complain.

First glances are strong and ripe,
First touch is like a midnight musk against my skin,
Right leg goes over and i'm sitting on my black beauty Virago,
She's a warrior, fierce as fire and brings light into my darkness.
Everyone tells me "you're" dangerous but can't they see i enjoy the thrill of the rush between my legs as the rumble dream continues further unto highway 10.
Fresh crisp air, blue sunny sky, these are moments i'll remember when i'm older, true and genuine.
I love my motorcycle and always will,
no one can ever change the rumble dreams i have for my ride.

Getting out of one’s comfort zone,
Trying out travelling alone,
Making decisions that are risk-prone,
Is no doubt difficult - like trying to live without a phone!


Often leads to breakdowns,
Often makes one look like a clown
And often makes one frown.


But then if one doesn’t live for these things,
They are just like a bird without wings.
Even if their day-to-day life doesn’t sting,
They miss out on life and all that it brings.

It’s really, truly morbid, how my vehicle came to me,
Twas’ the death of a friend of a friend of a friend
Of a friend who was close to thee
He was dead when I got your keys.  
I find that I’m quite infatuated, by your shining, crimson flair  
And your window that squeaks, and your faux leather seats,  
Stained carpets and central air
Who knew trucks could be debonair?  
Shall I name all life’s pains that mean naught in you?
Like that person who says, and then he says, and she says
They all say, and then it is true
So, I drive to find new points of view.
We will thrive on gasoline fumes and the human will
Until the ground is ****** dry and wells shot
Till then, freedom, adventure, and hidden hills
Will be ours, you and I, Bombadil.

Crossing the eastern stream,
I met a friend.
His shell, hard as he slowly
traverse across the water.
Crouching down, I asked him.
Oh turtle, why do you move so slow,
Yet never stop inching forward?

Dear diary;
I have thought a lot
about leaving this all behind
and buying a one-way ticket
to anywhere where no one
knows my name.
I want to forget who I am
and lose myself
in another's culture.
I want to stay until I tire
and do it all again
somewhere else.

There it was
the lonely wooden heart
the last one
in the souvenir shop

With huge wound
right in the middle
Nobody wanted to buy
the broken heart

I have it
put it on my sleeve
it suits me well
I think

Hand in hand,
standing at the gates of Hell.
Nothing else exists,
but for the flames
of Turkmenistan
burning as bright
as the love
between
us two.