I have umpteen worries, but nobody to tell.
So many problems, but, nobody to help.
Countless questions, but nobody to answer.
And overwhelming feelings, but, nobody to feel it.
I tell the ceiling that I look up to everyday in high pitched voices,
All I could see is a cracked and peeling paint,
Maintaining its coated color; white as snow
Likewise the ceiling fan keeps spinning my worries in its switch straight blades.
Even the white walls that seem to be around my infinite familiarity,
Become witherable ready to resist my worries,
Turn my worries to prittle prattle, ineptly becomes a numbnut,
Withering away my worries in shattering crevices
Even the Mirror that shows my glassy manner,
It keeps forming a fissure without shatter,
Keeps reslivering itself with my worries,
Have my worries become a furbisher to you too?
I tell my friend who seems to be my thithermost,
And all what she could say is “Don’t worry,
It is normal, they are born to be like that,
There is nothing to worry about.”
Who do I tell my Inenarrable worries?
Even my soul that has my unsaid words, keeps it in a hole,
Even My brain keeps caving in my worries
Even My pen feels cracking after writing all my worries
Even I know you feel helpless too after reading in whole,