25 November, 2017
What do you do when you grow intolerant to your kind? How does a social being go on to live the rest of her numbered days with a strong repulse to everyone around? Maybe this human frame is too little a place to contain all this anger? Where do you go and dispose off the soaring anger within you?
As utter chaos vacuums it all out,
Leaving me wandering in the labyrinth of nothingness,
I was, perhaps, a believer of fictious faith,
Nurturing the tint of light I greedily hoped would reach us.
Those little tingles that lingered around,
Are maybe, paired with stillness now,
I am, perhaps, moving towards extinction of my expressions,
Expressions that groomed me once upon a time.
I guess, I’m tired, exhausted, frustrated,
Or have I grown intolerant? Intolerant to my own kind?
I will, perhaps,…..