To the guy with the
Rolled up sleeves,
Metal arms,
And Cold stare,
I know you are out to
Get me.
When you and your
Friends hang around,
Near my dorm balcony,
To puff out huge
clowds of grey,
I could feel your
Cold stare has infected,
them in some way,
Your unnecessary hate,
Carved in with malacious,
Blades.
All ganged up
To hunt the poor sucker
Down- Me.
I didn't sleep that night
Waiting for you and your
Gang of goons,
To slow up,
I was ready.
With a wooden stick,
In one hand, and a plastic
Hanger in the other,
I kept slashing the Air,
to learn single stick,
Double stick, takewondo,
Anything I could,
To defend myself,
Even when my eyelids,
Like locked shudders,
Refused to open,
My arms like rubber tubes,
Hanged,
Legs about to collapse,
I kept on.
But no one showed up.
The next day I saw you,
And your mouth curled to
A C,
What looked like a smile,
Put a stop to the bang
That kept hitting my chest,
My head which felt like
An hot owen till then,
started to melt.
When paranoia hits me,
I am not myself,
It gives me this sunglasses,
When every soul is
A threat,
Every giggle an insult,
Every hand is out to
Pull me down,
And everyday an
Opportunity for
new conspiracy,
And he has this friend,
Who creeps from his shadows,
Holds you by the neck,
Hauls you upside down in
In his cave,
Leaves you scratching the
Walls for your dear life,
To see some kind of a light,
Anxiety leaves you paralysed,
Disabled, breathless.
And next time worser.
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