That losing the ability to finish anything, and perhaps

Waiting for life to come up with something

That losing interest in all around

That feeling of being an island, amidst an ocean of sorrow

That desire to be with friends and make acquaintances

And running away from them all

That desire to be with myself

And not being able to face it

That mastering the art of doing nothing

That desire to be away from everything

Being absolved of all around, not fearing anything

Surrounded by blankness, not expecting anything from life

Days spent, hating each moment, sulking under pillows

Nights passed, with the urge to walk into the dark, unknown,

That remembering the last time I wrote "my" before your name

Realising that "we" does not hold significance anymore

That taking unfathomed risks, and perhaps

Waiting for life to end.