Life is great, life is fine,

but it doesn’t feel like mine.

Feel like a fraud, a masked actor,
my script is gone and, I forgot one factor-

The mask will fall and the play will end.

Then where will I be? Counting down the hours till I- ‘go round the bend’


I’m done with being a passenger, taking a backseat in my own life.


Constantly waiting for my guide to knock- take me
down to the afterlife.

But-

am I too lost, lost among the colors, amongst the greys?

Stuck in a cycle of my destructive ways,

and if so- how?  How do I stop?

Feeling like I need my own personal repair shop.

Someone to pick up the pieces when the stack of cards fall down,


the joker looking up at me- smile, turned to a frown.

He’s got no reason now to laugh- I’m wasting away my days- and I know it too.

I want to turn it all around but now even all the good memories are tainted blue,

the colour of melancholy seeping all over like a starry sky.

Pretty at first but then I remember:
That all the stars are going to die.

Just like you, just like me.

And I don’t know what scares me more, the thought of dying - or the way it makes me feel so free.

Maybe that’s why I feel so trapped, homesick for a place I’ve never been-

even if my life is great and the grass is green-

to me it all looks the same.

Happiness seems so far in the distance, an ever-dying flame,

I would run, through the tears, through the rain- just to light a single, feeble match
but-

how can I when I’m always so tired and a voice whispers- ‘there’s a catch.’

Life is great, life is fine.

But...

I’m really not so sure it is this time.


I don’t know who I am,
my feet on the ground, my head in space,

I can’t help but feel like everything is flying past at an unbearable pace-


Maybe that’s me- who I am- a stranded astronaut, with a faulty helmet-

an outsider on earth,  above too overwhelming.

My oxygen tank is slowly running out-

but I can’t find it within me to care- let alone shout.