The grey sleepless nights

Somehow pass like smoky dreams.

The air filling my lungs

Pollute the dusty thoughts about her.

My room has no light,

Except the flickering blankness of the moon

Sailing through the waves, sorrowful.

Sometimes shutting ourselves off

Provides the relief we've been yearning for years.

Shutting oneself off is nothing but a disease,

a contagious disease.

I embrace bitterness tightly

To dig out glee from it;

It's given me so much

That now I can't bear much happiness.

Break-ups that tear your fibers,

That squeeze your nerves tightly,

That fill your eyes heavy, ready to explode—

Makes us learn

That each burnt bygone second

Remains as a birthmark.

The friend that misunderstands

Me not calling him,

Breaking all the relations;

The bird that flies away

For me not waking up for it;

How can I make them understand

How contagious this disease is?

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