Miss Lonely’s Lonesome Scribbles

The wooden door swings open
To a sight of two neatly kept empty beds
While the third one is subjected
To an unkind treatment
As you unceremoniously dump your things on it.
Headphones set,
You put on your favorite song
On a repeat
And croon in soft whispers,
Remebering those times
When you and your roommate
Hummed  in chorus.

You snap open your eyes
To shake yourself out of reverie
And realise that it’s already pitch black outside.
You look forward to a quite dinner
And an early sleep.
But for some strange reason,
You suddenly feel like a born insominiac.
The slightest tinker of noise
Makes your head turn sharply
And make you shiver
At the thought of an invisible soul
Gazing at you with intense vehemence.
The innocent looking spotless walls
Threaten to engulf you within them
And destroy every proof
Of your exsistence forever.

The dimming lightbulb plays tricks
And you are scared that
Your eyes will lure you
Into an endless sleep
And you will never witness
The radiant sun next morning,
Infusing a spirited yet serene life in you.
Absurd thoughts like these
Keep hovering in your mind
Till a look at your wrist watch says
It’s three at night
And you drop down dead
On you unkept bed
With a childlike faith that
You will survive the night.

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