Overflowing Sequence

A morning breeze knocked and entered, same old, same old.

I decided shutting my eyes again, same old, same old.

Replenished senses, discontented feeling, frustrated perceptions.

My eyes all loose, keeping it shut had ceased.

My body motion etched with scripted progress.

Same old, same old habits telling me,

I don’t even live a life at all.

Same old, same old routines making white noises,

As if it was a natural questioning babel murmuring that —

I had such a futile hollow existence.

All I just do and only took was a strained sigh,

I wonder if breathing is some tool that I still own,

was it a tool?

I suppose, seeking a reply from it,

was similar to taking a branch from a tree.

I was gone from being static —

when I felt the warm forenoon sun drawing on my figure,

through the sheer curtain that veils the window.

steeply evoking and inscribing marks of my own stale nature.

Worn pile of garments and crumpled papers —

scattered around me, as if it took a slumber with me.

I took the towel from the headboard —

shooting for the waters,

I wandered off over these shabby duvets scattered on the ground.

It was a long, lazy shower I wanted —

where I was all bare with my mediocre body and thoughts,

touching everything of it with the rushing waters and my palms.

It was a long, lazy shower I wanted —

that might stroke my mind, caress my soul, and fondle my heart.

but it turned out the contrary.

It was a long, hysteric shower,

I whimpered in desolation,

moaned from a sensual sensation,

then I sobbed, weeping in frustration of knowing —

I attempted to swallow myself in oblivion,

when I’ll never even get a taste of it, only to choke in despair.