I open the door

And walk In 

And sit

And forget

To write,

I look outside the windows

My thoughts collide

And a battle ensues 

I look at my broken typewriter 

And my broken mind 

And those broken thoughts

I’m just thinking.

Did I write what I had to? Or was it just another round of procrastination.

12:39 a.m
At first I was trying
To make it rhyme
With no reason
Pushing them together
Those words
Those meanings
Drifting apart
One by one
I made everything
Sound spurious
Pretentious
Fabricated.

12:41 a.m
Two minutes later
I realized
There's no complication
It's me
Who's the stonewall
Preventing those
Words
From making sense
Creating a rumpus
An unnecessary altercation
Casting cement for my own bridges.
It was illegitimate.

2:41 a.m
Two hours later
I understood the power of words
I proposed an adamantine will
Purported to it  
Maybe
But things were now clear
I wasn't lying to myself
I sounded reasonably correct
In my mind
Unconsciously pondering
Consciously oblivious.

1st January,2017
Now, it has been years
It was me who acted like a can of worms  
All these years
Now it goes with the flow
It's difficult to tread the boards
Now my words
Are prepotent
Adequate
I stopped rhyming
Now the arrow hit the spot.

It was my
favourite puzzle
And the best time of
The day
More of pretence
Or actual happiness
Was something
Which couldn't be figured
Lying to self
Caused harm
Truth was even bitter
I was trying to
Stay awake
And arrange those
Pieces
I felt a strong
Disinclination
And wanted to
Battle it out
I looked at the illustrations
And stood flabbergasted
Nothing made sense
I had to be
cognisant of
Those boundaries
And keep my self
Wrapped up
There was a piece
Lying by my side
Which wasn't a part of
The puzzle
It was just
An infatuation.

It'd spin round
Full of upside downs
Full of different numbers
She played roulette

But it isn't that easy, always.

She’s looking up,
At the constellations,
And trying to make sense,
And trying to discern something .

Those stars,
They’re looking down upon her,
Thinking how easy it is to fool her,
How easy it is to help someone in being preoccupied all night,
How all the random thoughts take perfect place in the witching hour,
How overthinking makes her brain dysfunctional but she has to live with it,
Everyday,
Inadvertently,
she forgets the kind of place this is.
Here,
The ones who try, suffer
The ones who don’t, suffer.
This place favours nobody
Every second, it is eating you up.