For a few days, my pen will remain silent.
My mind will be numb and thoughts won't be violent.
For a few days, the writer inside me will hibernate.
I don't know when he'll return but I'm sure it is going to be a bit too late.
For a few days, I am not going to see the rising sun.
Will remain in the state of inactivity with no joy or fun.
For a few days, my face will look like a corpse devoid of any expression.
Expressing it didn't work out so I'll try the other way - supression
For a few more days, my heart will not be dilating just contracting inside my chest.
Hollowing me from inside, eating me up.
For some days, in peace I'll rest.
Hibernation, yeah human does that too..
It's time to take a nap..
The writer inside me wants to sleep..