Poetry

Bleached white

Over and over, every single day,

She walks down the same hallway,

The days have passed but the clocks have stopped,

Even she finds her footprints carelessly mopped,

Memories are soaked, washed and bleached white,

Thinking about them, analyzing every night,

So aware and yet she clings on to the past,

Delightfully watching the painfully aghast,

Exhausted even the frontal lobe is tired now,

Slipping into the flight mode, it long ago waved, “Ciao”

“If only you would stand up and be the person you truly are!”

“Shut up” says she again, to the well wishing heart,

So joyfully self destructive, so foolishly unaware,

Such a bad actress and yet she pretends she doesn’t care,

What should I do with her? She hears but does not listen!

Happy being boarded to the train with no destination!

So, now I am quiet which is quite not right,

But believe me I have tried all that I might,

Or not who knows; maybe I am not the well wisher after all,

Maybe just a dumb girl playing with her doll,

Maybe my thoughts too are soaked, washed and bleached white,

After all I too over analyze every single night,

How can I be sure of everything I ever do!

Forever judging was it false or was it true!

So, be as it may, throw the mirrors away,

I know, ours is such a shameful waste of talent!

But fuck it, we will laugh running in the circles of regret, insecurity and lament.

 

 

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