Of Shattered Dreams.

An escape route.

To drown every failure.

To suppress every desire.

To kill my soul.

Where to? Where to?

I walked a freaking lot today. Through lanes and by-lanes that I never knew existed. You'd think I were escaping from somebody / something if you could trace the strange route I took. But I really was escaping from myself. Escaping reality. Which I couldn't, though. Would suicide be the only way of escaping from myself?

Shadows On My Wall

How long can you constantly keep staring at the ceiling or the walls? Do you search for images on your walls? I’ve just found a man suffering from elephantiasis with gorilla-arms living in my room. On the ceiling. A bunny rabbit on the wall to my left. A walrus balancing a ball on its snout on the ceiling at the far end. And the initials of a very dear friend written below the tube light. Tomorrow, when I am to look at the walls, I’m sure I’ll discover new creatures in my room. Pretty amusing, you know. I suggest you try it, that is, if you haven’t already, when you’ve got nothing better to do. You could just catch yourself advertising for Surf Excel. ‘Daag acche hote hai!’