So you'll weep on an august afternoon, laying down all your wounds to bleed, shades of winter coldness.

You'll draw down maps from where it began, trying to trail it all upto the end, and realise that you've being lost in this labrinyth of suffering where butterflies are jarred, voice boxes are shut, rainbows are scarred and your arms are tied up for your own good.

It'll echo down your spine, you'll grasp it while sipping wine, you'd slowly tumble on your bed slightly to the right and assure yourself of all being fine.

But slowly while you fall asleep to the tunes of all the novels you've read,

As you're eyes slowly paint the colour red and then dark black like the darkening of the sky, Ready to spill and threat

You'd question yourself why, while it'll hit you all at a time.

How you don't belong to your own soul but body, how your soul doesn't belong to the home it's lived ,to where it once ignited bright but all you can see now is a flick of dim light ready to die.

Your eyes shall leap open the doors to your heart which will pave path to your mind and you'll find, you'll find pieces of yourself scattered in a million syllables, in a handful of paintings hung over the bedroom wall as a masterpiece you'd carved

Crying in your hall.

Your eyes shall pinch over salt droplets and glisten in the shallowness you've dissolved

You'll weep, weep on a december morning craving for summer tea.

But again you'll be lost,

Trying to find yourself in a place you dont belong.

So you'll write again

Paint again

Untill you've found yourself

To where you belong

~A