Day breaks, courage fails. Name crawls, memories etch. Give it love, you take back fear. The doubt you had, becomes now crystal-clear!
I feel like a blank sheet gazing, moving, trying to fit into the hollow sockets. The place that once showered love, now depicts only a pale face. A face which is half dead. A face which only pretends.
I feel like a blank sheet thinking upon words. Words to spill out of me, for when I have none. Words to save me, from the moments of turmoil.
I feel like a blank sheet, when I have to say. Say, to express, to tell them what I feel. But what do I feel? Is it then safe, to presume, that what crosses my mind at that instance is what I feel?
I feel like a blank sheet when they want answers. The answers to the questions that I think so much about. The questions that I tend to ponder on and on upon!
Yet, they say that I don’t care a bit. They say, I don’t think about the grave, important stuff. If I try and show them, my scratched, clear blank sheet, wouldn’t they all call me a bluff?