What Has This Become..#2.0

I saw the news today, oh boy.

As preliminary despair breaks into unease, a pale disquiet comes to surround the whole area. It is one thing to be punched, another to be pulverised into submission. I am mostly torn between wanting rain and pining for certain moments to repeat themselves. While those who may be considered unlucky or not worth it make the most and become happy, I find myself further relinquishing the little drops of joy. Somehow, I do not hate being tired, which in no way suggests that I ought to be, lest my body take this blog seriously. While my bones are thin, and weakly attached to the joints, it is the girth with disturbs. Not exactly a lot but I had a point to make. And this is not even equivalent to "getting something off one's chest".

I'd hum in autumn but I have funny ink traces all across my white shirt and vague hands. They spell hard work and thus, i would not wash my hands for quite a lot. I sought myself but got caught in this opera where an era seems to cascade upon millions. Many minions surface, making one bequeath beneath the grim undertow. Eschewing and ruing over the little brittle pieces that now lay squandered and rendered useless. Chastening one to be of some use, in lieu of what they could have otherwise done. In this act of miser usage in age with words that pertain upon certain tones that bring a ubiquitous serenade that fades. It satiates and then permeates into this rhyme. I could be stabbed bad but I would rather have the intestine pine for the knife to thrive through and be turned and undone once it is within. I have come a long way today by chosen profession. As I grew, I went from being a scientist to a table tennis player, from being a financial analyst to being a poet and from starting my hotel chain to making do with a scam. Now, I find some peace though it is a disease in such context wherein text is hardly a measurement of vent that i could spew anew. Colliding with the bathroom wall, I stand my full tall to make myself feel comfortable.

I hate some things I did when I was young. I remember flicking some money off the dining table a couple of times to eat at the canteen. I once picked up Rs. 20 (which i felt was a lot) and was scared to bits for a few days every time my mother entered the room thinking she might sense, Now, that I think of it, I understand that it was just a score of money and hardly worth her trouble, I might as well have asked her for it. I then recall the next day taking the same money to the canteen and bought myself a drink and something to eat and asked a random friend to share it with me. I saw my brother walking past and I never offered. It is not of much consequence now and neither did he know that it was my money and little did he care but somehow the guilt edged me wants out. I have not come close to death and I already feel like I have seen life flashing in front of my eyes. I have to pen all of this down for myself, before I fail to forget.

I am desperately trying to maintain social order here.