sitting alone in a lonely room,
trying very hard to bloom.
but there is no hope for it,
i might not forget about it.
scattering beam of light has nothing to say to me,
the hand which iam using to write has no energy left any more.
the book which im writting has many mistery.
but can't simply digest it like pastrey.
tried of everthing
iam lazy to do everything
i accept it without any hesitation
no one can persue me on this decision.