Spare tyre

I could be of use but hardly in a year I could be taken out to gain space for your gear I could be toyed with rolled around with a stick I could lie here waiting   in the dark     riding the bumps       slowly rotting away         wishing I'm in a riot           out in the street             burning

Whitewash

In search of a large façade which I will cover with paint with dark and deep colours I will spill my madness and pain.