Year on a leash set to be free,
I thundered the room cluttered with letters.
No, not the usual handwritten eulogies for my twiddled love.
Letters, words..texts!! One that never got away.
One that linger around here, around my shabby, simmering existence.
Theories have been shredded through the whispermongers. Part of self evaluation.. primarily a personal complex.
Politely, they have taken over the illicit drama in the triology of “me, myself and I”.
Yes, off the radar.. those texts remained barren. And frankly I don’t even recollect a single one of them.
Have been rummaging the backspace key all along.
“Things you can say v/s the things you’d actually spout”
Had there been a log maintaining those virgin texts, I’d still be counting them.
Plenty of rotten truth still revels there.
Hey,Look! A flooded town, life hacked in shackles. All you’ll hear are the wails, lifeless breaths hard to count. Now all you’d think about is Emptiness.
Done and flooded… silence howls!
Grazing the crevices of hunger, blood, tears, love, you’ll tumble upon the very feel of eternity.
It starts to scowl inside your head!
Those hindered legacies which you never let go were the ones.
The “backspace” kind of masters its own faith, it’s own life.
And us being a faithful patron to our forlorn episodes. Potentially inhibiting our whispered surges in our mind.
This New Year, keep all your grudges aside and wish all without hitting that backspace!😊
An effort to sue up your minds. We’ve all been through the task of “deleting” or “backspacing” our complexes . Some words we didn’t let anyone read.
An enigma of personal contest..