Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Day, when you feel nothing, think nothing, do nothing, just hanging there, floating as if those bunch of white clouds up above sky, you watch them with compassion, find them as one of your own, you try to wave them a hand, say them hello and a raven passes by your head mimicking you as if you are a wasted drunkard unable to handle that hangover of heavy orgasms of last night.

You toss your head in the bucket filled of cold water holding your breath, you feel a rush of blood behind you ears, your eyes widens, your heart chocks yet you hold it, you hold it a little longer, you wish to feel the life running out of your veins with bubble popping up at the surface with sort of noise.

You let go of your hand and your head bounces back out of bucket in a flash, you could see yourself drenched, you look at your face in the mirror hung rather carelessly at the wall as if seeing yourself first time or after a long time. You find your eyes drowned in red, your skin pale, and your hairs all over the place, you hate yourself and take your eyes off, screaming.

You try hard to remember what happened earlier, before you woke up, before you fell upon that bed. Alas! You think nothing, you just find that glass still filled to the brim waiting to be touched and emptied rather empathically.”