Sadness

By Ishita Singhal

That scorching feeling creeping on your back,

your nasal cannot inhale a bit of air for its sacks.

That feeling of being in the middle of something,

nothing to hold, and nothing to lose it all the same thing.

The confusion it creates and everything exfoliates,

it’s the mess that bore the weight.

It sunk me to the ground,

making me fall with hate.

You cant speak your mind,

it is a hazy bay.

You can t see because

it’s a blurry trail.

You can t fight because

you have nothing to stand solid with.

You like a life like a burden,

like a pile of rags and pieces of a broken chain.

By Ishita Singhal