3 am.

all the dayI gather my broken pieceswith my handssettle them downwash them offand striveI shine like sun. all the nightI break myselfinto dejected pieces again3 am. is a fightit ruins allI talk to my ghost. -SHREYA

Am I Volatile?

Something screams through my mind and echoes through my soul which I can’t perhaps listen and scrutinize. Drifting away from childhood and innocence, it pierce my soul and puts me into the introspection of varying phases of wicked reality. For a moment, it appears a dilemma, other second, a wandering route for me where I…