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?

Needs.

I need my monkey. Back from the bushes into which it was once shoved 15 years back.

I need a hug. A nice and warm bear hug.

I need somebody to tell me that even though I'm a moron in many ways, I'm not all rotten.

I need some sleep. But I suppose I won't be getting that soon now.

I need to cry. Cry myself hoarse. When nobody is around.

And. Most importantly, I need to die. Or get back from the dead. Or something to that effect.

Well, that’s all for now. Go get back to your complicated lives. Shoo.