And this time I’m unfastening to show the tumbled me to this so called “perfection” obsessed world. Amid the glistering fossil papers making noise, Are you able to listen to the ink soaked white sheet?
If not, then scroll it down
because this might hurt your butt.
Coffe mugs are the recent paper boats drifting in the ocean of surrealistic world. A few like me stand with chai and Parle-G, nothing to adore.
“Unless you come out with a new skill, a new habbit….” squalls a group.
“It’s okay not to…” hollers another.
You stand afar from the two and watch.
Because you know,
What the fuck you did.
What the fuck you are doing right now
And what the fuck you have to.
All you need is yourself at the end of the day but what you try to seek is a bit of attention.
You grin to click
And write to tag
Wash it away
Like you remove your make-up off every damn night
Undress your soul too.
Depression and anxieties are not those led lights, that you roll around your body to glow in the darkness. They can never be decorated with metaphors and rhymes.
You say sunsets are beautiful with your blue lens on whereas I capture’em with my naked eyes and abandon them in drafts to see it often.
Crotons are bonnie, you foster them all around your house to swank but the first plant you water is the thorn covered Rose, at the corner of your garden.
Nurture your soul, help, heal.
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