The embers of a racing mind.

I can almost feel the curvature of my first thought burning away as quickly as the wing of a happy butterfly would ash away to; when inched  to an ignited matchstick. The head of the second thought was the origin of such friction and so has been the cycle of my thoughts, lately. Burnt out; even before one could live. 
A pandemonium of events uncannily containing similar emotions, all of which turn into a chaos inside a breathing room divided into two; my mind needs space. 
Examples of how fragile the think tank of our anatomy is have been in abundance, recently. And some times, I wonder; aren't we all a little tilted in the dark side, at some point?

"A calm man always has a war within him.. which is why, he is calm." ; I heard an acquaintance say, with a smirk today. And the glint in his eyes at the moment convinced me of the autobiographical statement, casually passed to push the puberty of understanding him. 
Since then, a very different spotlight surrounds his figure even in day light, when I look at him. And then I wonder, don't we just look at people? Isn't that all the shallow effort we put in to understanding the immediate wall of concrete we live in, after all? And then we wonder why pity surrounds our existence?

"Atleast this patch of Earth I'm standing on, is my ashtray." ; That was the parent of arrogance, her tongue talking. To our questioning looks, she didn't defend; she stated; that the patch of land she stood on was loyal to her weight, it was loyal to the foreskin of her body and mind. The patch of land was hers to spoil with all her ridiculous and whimsical ideas, to all the forms of salt that secrete out of her brown skin, to the lose strands of hair that fall out of her scalp to rid themselves of the overwhelming amount of turbulence beyond their roots. The patch of Earth was her. It was made out of her, and thus will wait for her slowly ashing body to come back home. The breed of such women was lost, we thought?

" The relevance of the human will and word is tragic, to say the least." ; I thought, after that one friend closed the door behind him. That one friend who was an undertone to the first quarter of my life, who was the proof of my childhood and who was the ear to every voice that made it out of my throat; and the ones that didn't. Years and years of mindless banters and baseless words exchanged in between found their way to my ear drums and I realized how relative human words are; for once the intention changes and the will demolishes, those words don't even exist enough to be called empty, anymore. There is no vessel to them, only tainted air of something that used to be. 
And one day, all those inconsequential conversations will skin the time you lost out on, alive. 


-Nil.