Before I go back to sleep
I have so much to write.
Yell
Spit
And cry.
If I weren't so sick of myself,
Would I crave sunnier days?
Wait for golden brown pages to read,
Sit on the balcony on a lovely afternoon
Noticing the sun set and
A lone cobbler walking down the road,
Like in a Rituparno film.
Will you get me back to who I was?
I miss my mother's scent.
Primordial needs,
The city is too fast and the work is never ending
I always have too much to yell and cry
So I write.