Mind Peddler

Feeling the pulsating heart to death

Isn’t the way I chose to take the last of my breath

The zeal and liveliness of young blood is lost in the journey

But I wonder what possibly could have turned me

Into this soulless piece of work

And I fear, someday this question might turn me berserk

The feeling of anxiety intertwined with expectations 

Infused into a life yet to do so many explorations 

I look sometimes up the sky 

And think of the fake persona that I dye 

Life saturates and and splits into so many narrow rows 

When did it all start? When will it all end? Who knows

This ravaging urge within my heart 

Burning with smouldering passion inside a humble cart

This humble cart is struggling with time

Getting pummelled as if it’s not even worth a dime

But the thing is when this humble cart breaks

That will be the end of me and my fakes