Dream or dread

There she sat. Like every other day.
Talented, oh yes. And with a view, that too.
And with some history, unlike many others.

Fuel enough, one would say.

There she sat. Yet another day.
With her overflowing head: very busy at nothing.
And so she was tired, as nothing kept her very busy.

Fuel enough?

There she sat. Dreaming through the day.
Blending her assets into a magnificent novel?
Or blending them into true helpfulness?

Fuel enough, after all!

There she sat. And passed the day.
Dreading her own indifference,
of life going by, without her even trying.

Fuelling nothing but a grotesque frame.


(pathetic attempt at self-chastisement; as if it would change any thing)

From the gutter of my feelings...

Feeling sad, sad ,sad. Depression hitting hard.

Silence deafening me and an increasing load wants to impress me unto the soil it seems.

Man what is this and why?

I'm feeling myself so dirty, but the option of taking shower feels like a torture.

Thousand things to do, thousand things that I WANT to do, perhaps it's all too much on my own?

Please let me hide in my bed and sleep the time away end read some pleasant things in case I might wake up for some moments.
Please grant me loneliness, to get healed by the absence of distraction.
Please grant me company to know that I'm alive and celebrate our breathing and eyes and legs.

Please, please, please, this feeling ain't much fun and my days seem like utter failure.

Or do you think I could go for shopping and mingle with the people, while being a creep from the gutter?