Every three months after the year's final semester
I pick up my broken cliché nice and pack them into the heap of fabrics
That cover my insecurities.
I pile up the items, toss them in the drawer
And lock them safely so that they cannot follow and haunt me in these three months.
With broken hopes and tired mind
I find my way back home to heal
All these three months, like an injured dog, I lick my wounds
And try controlling my mind
Some days i get happy dreaming
Other nights I hardly sleep for a while
But this attempt of healing myself at my home fails everytime
Because I do not know from where the waves of broken days hit me bad
And I tremble, shook, wobble and fall in its trap
Every three month of the break I try finding happiness again and hope to be strong.
I try fighting demons with positive vibes all along
But with the end of the holidays, I know all my attempts went wrong.
Then I carry my backpack, now with more fabrics and items that wait to be tossed into the drawer
And haunt me for the next four months
And move out of my den
Pretending to be happy for going back to a place which is only going to shatter me again.