I am a kid, a little one at that,
with a pair of mismatched gloves,
and a cap, tad smaller than my scalp.
I tried to do away,
be done with whatever I had to,
with my lunatic rant,
but then again, couldn't help...
I wear an overlarge sweater,
which protects my insides,
from a cold place I got to survive.
I am just a guy, with a torn jeans,
unsure which way to go, to make it fit right.
I tell you, things are distasteful,
and they freak people out.
But then again, I figured,
in my clumsy movements,
there lied what Emily tried to describe,
before she died.
You know, it is very funny,
that after all this time,
while I tried to figure what is wrong,
on the outside,
it turns, it was my turn,
to push it all aside.
Move away, lock in the corners,
warm in their cold comfort,
huddled, where I could meditate,
and there wouldn't be any bug,
or even a beautiful butterfly,
feeding on the sack of fungus,
rich and ripe.
Then again,
I was just a kid from some corner,
with mismatched gloves,
noone would ever try...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
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