As I sit avoiding the chaos within,
And the noise trying to upset my thoughts,
The whisper that peeks in
There is a story spinning in my head
A story that seems to be real
Story with no theme–rheme.
The anarchy is so dense and deep
I fear it to be real,
It feels dark,
It feels vast,
From pillar to post the fiction spins.
My eyes are open wide,
There is life around me as I can feel,
As gust of air arrives to touches my skin,
And fades with a grim.
But there I am trapped,
Between the world, I belong and the world I am in.
And the story goes along,
With no end that I can think.
It’s the tale of the past,
It’s the tale of the future, yet to happen
It’s about the words I said,
It’s long and long,
Craved over a ream.
There are my weaknesses,
There are my strengths,
There are the moments I loved,
And what I have hidden,
My sins.