A dead bird

There are some days when you just wake up with the uneasy citrus thoughts that bleach your mind out. No matter how much you try to knock yourself against the reality but it is like an intense pull of the gravity that sucks you in and you are appalled watching the futility of your own efforts. In your mind, you are wrestling with the melancholy, crying in pain but it is a full blown infection now and there is nothing left for you except to suffer. You try not to think of it but it buoys its way up your thin nerves.

There is a whole lot of potential that a new day brings, so much more that you could have been, so many souls that you could have touched but this curse is set upon you so blatantly that you are hardly feel things. You don’t even know who you have turned out to be. You feign a smile while walking through the crowd, radiating friendly greetings but only your insides know what it is like to carry the burden of pleasantries. It is one of those primitive feelings that dominate your being and transforms you into a living corpse. It wields the power to make you powerless.

You see all the beautiful people with their purposes be it their relationship, their money, their status, their country and it seems they have much to live for, whereas you, on the other hand, have nothing and you are just so much pillaged at these fronts, not only detached but homeless, as if you cannot bring yourself upto the dedication of a purpose because of the uselessness it amasses. They made us believe in the fact that the prime of one’s life is supposed to be filled with passions for purposes and here you stand, worried for your neutral zero, battling just to draw a goddamned breath in peace. Gripped with this insurmountable sadness, you are drowning weighed down by your own phlegm while people around display their picturesque colours and expect you to play their games.

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