The reality of the fog is the obscurity of our future – dim…
I’m so done with you!
I flipped through repeatedly,
But finally I realised
I haven’t been reading but staring blindly.
Life they say is too imperfect to check for others’ flaws,
But still I found myriads of fungi feasting on your putrid personality.
If another comes dropping,
A droplet of a despaired lover in distress,
I’ll replace you with a diary and bury our memories.
In a worthless coffin,
Your existence will decay away,
And I’ll only have to worry about
The wood meant for the merriment of termites.