Dark Hours

A recipe , a cop , a mall

Walking outside dimed with lights
Transcending to another world
Moving slowly loosing count of very minute
A recipe of mid illusions
Conscious thoughts plastering in
Snapping back and forth
Insane the nearest equation to the answer to sanity
Regret an understatement
A mall of millions of conclusions
Hiding the truth from those who already knew it
Chained motions slowly passing by
Realizing what he had done
A cop standing before him
Interrogating him
But he stayed in silence
Silenced by his own ethics
Not to be known