chakrit

So much work.
So little time.
All the great poets.
Are busy with rhymes.

But of all these works.
There’s something missing.
Of all the beautiful blessings.
It’s missing the “why”.

Why must I work?
Why must I write?
Maybe cuz I try.
Maybe cuz I hide.

Because life is hard.
And I’m barely living it.
And even dragging yards
down everyone around me.

That’s why I leave.
That’s why I run.
That’s why I escape.
Even the bright bright sun.

I have nowhere to go.
I’m riddled with problems.
I’m always a no.
I’m not responsible enough.

Sorry I could not be.
The man of your dreams.
And I don’t want to be
a problem when we’re old.

That’s why I left the train.
So you could go on with life.
I love you too much inside.
I hurts being myself to you.

…

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