Day is the color of your childhood tricycle and am lost like an old action figure, whom nobody cares to find.
I have been told many times that it benefits no one, if I only care to think about random things that don’t exist and spend time giving them a meaning. But this pink patch on the whitewashed wall in front of me seems more important than the aforementioned advice.
Or maybe I am searching for rebellion all around me because I just noticed that the hose below the kitchen sink with the black pipe– splashing water droplets is revolutionary!
Wandering eyes search for something to hide an allusion that nobody knows of, until now.
The only fallen leaf on brick wall near the pipeline is celebrating the relief of getting away from all alike family of thousands of ignorant siblings, out of which he was kicked out of– because he had been talking about "flying". He’s dead and free. Which makes him even more happy. Apparently, to be dead is a nice state to be in.
Folded sleeves of my sweater are integrated equilibrium system with always straight line of wool. Also, wool never cheat or lie.
Peels of apple were thrown in the dustbin, which felt very vomit-like. Because egg shells don’t like vegetables to be placed with them– although the vomit-like feeling arose because eggs don’t know that apples aren't vegetables!
Left thumb of my hands is numb due to cold out here, but tonight's sky looks like me. It looks deceiving and incomplete with an almost full moon and a splash of navy blue rather than black-- like me.
The neck of the goat was devoid of hairs due to being tied by a yellow rope all the time. There were little knobs that I felt near his temple which would become full fledged horns within few days.
I am unable to catch on your words like a child, running out of time in Spelling Bee contest. Shitty spellings. I'm worst at both.
I am not interested in telling you my story, but here I am– selling my world to nowhere.