Everything is a burden.

Lying on the bed, going out to meet your best friends, working to sustain a profile, creativity, and at times even breathing, all of it is just a burden. It’s not the lack of desires but zeal. Maybe, there’s a lot inside me that needs to heal. Taking initiative, even to utter a word out of my mouth, seems worthless. The body is void of energy. All the spheres of life are dull and at a dead end. A lot is filled inside. The mind has quitted already many years ago, the body is the one being dragged. People think it’s laziness but had I been lazy, I wouldn’t have even picked up my phone to communicate, verbally or in written. Everything comes back to the circle—zero. Music is the only hope and source of survival and mental peace. But after I get out of its mirage, it’s a zero, a dead end again.

Dead End

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