In one of the many inspired dead-ends,
I ran till I was short of breath
To the most loyal of my imaginary friends
I could only ask sounding close to death:
'Am I wrong...
Because more and more, seemingly,
Even with somebody along...
Life's a glorified journey from A to B.
And thinking this I spend my days.
To face the lacking, I try my best.
To see different I distort my gaze.
I don't want to think that I have less.
Hence I give more of myself to the cartoon.
And dull my sense of achievement with novelty.
Yes it will dry and cake and will turn maroon,
But first my blood will be purple through policy.'
He gave me a hug,
A short imaginary one.
Not an intravenous drug...
It was awkward, gay, un-warm and un-fun.
'If only you were simply insecure,
You psychoanalyze yourself in your own damn song.
Perception and ambition have no cure.
A phase is annoying but nothing's wrong.
You can try your best to have a fit,
As you grow skeptical I adopt your way,
You can stand here feeling inadequate..
Or console yourself that satisfaction is a cliché.
Lets procrastinate another season,
Small joys I wish you,
What more do you need as a reason,
Than the latest manga issue?'
I suddenly needed some space
I asked him to state our defining characteristics
In the confusion I left the place...
Its a weird thing, which I hoped to fix.
So since then I have lived and lived and known.
A cup of tea is but a comfort,
I microwave it again and again to have it thrown.
And I refuse to have a favourite shirt.
Noobus-Douchess found me at last.
Found me no more meaningful a year later.
And before I could run he asked really fast:
'Why let go, my curious debater?'
I felt no obligation to give him another chance.
I may one day accept weirdness as vain.
What bothers me is knowing only waltz as a dance...
Because this was the poem that showed I was sane.