Even the rose would burn of rot of death. The Satan will be afraid to put evil at 6. I was in a position where all of this was true to me and devil had a huge crown on his head and my bridge was slowly being smashed at with huge waves slowly destroying it with the shear power of the low confidence I had...from the start,disease. Maybe the shadows at my back are only the memories. After all memories trouble us more than the death of a person.
Swinging at the playground I have a red skull marked right in my eyes. Whenever one looks at me I look back and show them my rotten roses and broken bridges and they run away with horror like devil overpowered by god. Overthrown into hell. I would usually go everyday. Do this. Look at them with total blankness then would leave me alone. One day a living skull and moving woods came at my behalf. A man with a walk of gentleman and manpulativeness of the witches in Macbeth came slowly towards me I looked at him and expected for him to run away. But at that point I was talking to a skull. He came face front and slowly shifted his eyes at my chest. I was surprised that my bridges were- jumbled pieces were re built with other pieces not belonging to me.
I had lost my childhood long ago and was almost in my 20s. There was odd paint in my painting spread across. The man gave me a hand and held me on my feet. The playground turned to my house and smoke was spread all over. Then my mind was back to the man who vanished.
Comfort never existed for me.
Sometimes you got to move out of your comfort zone.
The end
That's the end. It's a methoohorical story. Thanks for reading. Critisims are welcomed..
© Kshitij sathe