What’s that thing called? What’s its name?
When nothing seems wrong, no one to blame

When all the screws are in place, yet seem misplaced?
When the nights all right, neither any one has bailed?

Have you ever felt so, or am I the solitary one?
When, to change the mainstream, you’d pay a ton?

When every thing is fine but you wanna grieve,
When all is good, stereotypical, yet hard to believe.

When you scramble your nerves with insecurities,
Over think your way through curiosities

When a speck of grief in another’s voice,
Makes you dig up skeletons, no choice

When everything’s good, playing it well,
Yet pessimism is where you chose to dwell,

‘The Night is young, full of terrors’
These terrors merely are our thought errors,

Our over-burdened mind, hurt, delirious.
Making happiness sound treacherous,

Its a state of mind,
or the dead weight on my spine,

Its the series of events that turned me into this,
Looking for loopholes, even through utter bliss.


5 thoughts on “Loopholes

  1. You are welcome ๐Ÿ™‚
    And it was my pleasure this beautiful post ๐Ÿ™‚

    And yet again you have beautifully expressed that we are in love with pain. Making us sit in a cacoon. Wearing it like cloth. Clinging to it forever.


    1. Thank you so much and thank you for taking the time to read it!๐Ÿ˜Š
      Yes exactly. Its like an anonymous feeling that makes us wanna be upset, or cling to bad memories.
      Weird thought I have: we are simply in love with our pain that happiness seems treacherous!

      Liked by 1 person

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