The way back home. It lead to the proliferation of negativity. Why do I attract so much of shit into my mind? As if my bike skids over the road/ I run into a truck right into its ass?
May be that's what too much of solitude is doing to me. Should I term it as loneliness? There is, my friend, this thin line of ice between solitude and loneliness which is finely crafted and is supposed to be delicately maintained from breaking. Its breaks, its going to take away the rigidity of your backbone along with it.
I just go around with pursed lips, zipped earlobes and ripped thoughts. May be I am letting the female parent of mine to look over my shoulders right through my scalp, into my some 1400 grams of meaty shit and doom over me, to cast her shadow, to overlap mine. No offence.
The endless cynicism that runs in the blood of deprived 60s' kids is infuriatingly nauseous and promisingly depressing. The way the adulterated kids now look over their literal kids erupts a suspicion that there's something insanely and wholly wrong with the generation altogether. It generates the same dubiousness in both the generations involved in the underlying crime scene, which is never exposed by the infected paparazzi busy shooting the skimpy bikini shoots of Kim Kardashian.
The grown ups curse their littles during their morning meditations, the adolescents rip off their predecessors during the late night alcohol streaks. But the time between the two schedules of a day, slides off unknowingly to both of them, stuck in the timeless loop of constantly trying to prove to the vice that they are actually treading the right path.
The same happened with Hanif, similarly with Anurag and is right now happening adjacent to you, yes! listen through that costly coated wall of yours! there's a battle been waging. Between the everlasting cynicism and the never ending hope.
There you see, my friend! That timeless, epic battle that was ever fought and still being fought, which intimidatingly promises to break the dawn tomorrow as well.
May be that's what too much of solitude is doing to me. Should I term it as loneliness? There is, my friend, this thin line of ice between solitude and loneliness which is finely crafted and is supposed to be delicately maintained from breaking. Its breaks, its going to take away the rigidity of your backbone along with it.
I just go around with pursed lips, zipped earlobes and ripped thoughts. May be I am letting the female parent of mine to look over my shoulders right through my scalp, into my some 1400 grams of meaty shit and doom over me, to cast her shadow, to overlap mine. No offence.
The endless cynicism that runs in the blood of deprived 60s' kids is infuriatingly nauseous and promisingly depressing. The way the adulterated kids now look over their literal kids erupts a suspicion that there's something insanely and wholly wrong with the generation altogether. It generates the same dubiousness in both the generations involved in the underlying crime scene, which is never exposed by the infected paparazzi busy shooting the skimpy bikini shoots of Kim Kardashian.
The grown ups curse their littles during their morning meditations, the adolescents rip off their predecessors during the late night alcohol streaks. But the time between the two schedules of a day, slides off unknowingly to both of them, stuck in the timeless loop of constantly trying to prove to the vice that they are actually treading the right path.
The same happened with Hanif, similarly with Anurag and is right now happening adjacent to you, yes! listen through that costly coated wall of yours! there's a battle been waging. Between the everlasting cynicism and the never ending hope.
There you see, my friend! That timeless, epic battle that was ever fought and still being fought, which intimidatingly promises to break the dawn tomorrow as well.
No comments:
Post a Comment