There seems to be a reason I prefer black for this blog. I almost invariably turn to in only in the times of extreme pain. It looks like the only person I really talk to is myself, and even that person likes to talk only through a blog. And thus, I write, I know not for what or whom or even why.

My shoulder aches as I drag my life forward, almost like a sack of bricks. My hands feel tied to, nay, crushed under an unbearable burden. My feet feel worn thanks to all the running through the maze of life. It has been several months since I have had mental peace - my mind screams and screams so it doesn't have to deal with the anguish. The anguish. This anguish - it rolls through me. I know not peace.

Peace. Doesn't come to me.


Through my head wail those eerie tunes
A cacophony of thoughts tormenting me
Remnants of anguish, they are the ruins
Of a thousand hopes on a rotting spree