There arrives the night when my brain buzzes, heart pounds in the chest. When my whole body is dead and weightless but the cologne of regrets keep me bound to the gravity. The lungs tighten and muscles tense. I feel nauseous of my own pen. I know what I need but my cravings attract me further. How I whisper every night to the pillow, bring Kelly McGonigal to peep through my window.
Every tick tick calls of my thoughts and they just pale tempting me to get suicidal leaving the gracious fad. Felicity turned the way being a myth and the bottled regrets afloat over shark's back. Each second night showers asteroid of melancholy burning my bed and making me devoid of a moral to weep. Why the trespassers smuggle negativity, is not an astonishing quest about me. The way my pierced hands bleed and my body lay soulless, my dark room is always left abandoned.
I weep to scream fears, holding grudges over my painted deeds. But the other me howls to stay back. Falling in traps has now been a cold breeze. Standing over the boundary of terrace, I see sky with fluctuating whim. It felt heart warming in the past but the lost felicity in my eyes behold the dream of closure. Closure of the pen and curtains. Closure of book of my blank pages, kissing me over the concrete down the terrace.
P.S bg is exactly opposite of the scribbled words just like the reminiscence of happiness in my tears.