You love to write, as there is no one to listen to your plight. You talk to the shampoo bottles at night, because there is no one to whisper to you, "go to sleep its alright". You want to hug someone tight, but in the vicinity of your sight, even then an argument with the blank lifeless walls at three midnight makes your burden a little light. You hug yourself tight, and whisper to yourself, "got to sleep, its alright".
But tell me honestly, is it actually alright? Didn't you weep that night? now you shall start with a 'ummm...... maybe' or a 'might'. But what about that feeling That universal feeling? Of drowning in your own thoughts, being crushed by the burden of your own dreams, being hanged by a chain of expectations and its insanity, actuality, reality and its brutality, taking a pill of truth and not being able to swallow it, for its bitter, being diabetic in your life, for all the sugary lies, for its sweeter, maintaining a balance between East & West, North & South. Why don't you speak up? Why don't you let it out? Whom are you afraid of? You, me or all of us?