It burns like hell in reins
As An uncontrollable pit
but tis only my vein
An empty whole that dwells
erasing the tick of life
churning the mind into a shell
Just a lonely being
Of the wrinkled wrapper
Who’s answer is only fleeing
Tis haunted by thoughts
Caving in on one’s self
Pending with only naughts
Once depended upon affection
Now reduced to nothing
But the longing of being beckoned
Huddled in a distant corner
Remembering moments
Debating on ending with a blunder
Unknowing of what is to become
Of the limp body
Frightened by life so gruesome
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