In the days, darkest,
Feel like I’m going bonkers.
The sky could be starlit,
All I see is a black sheet.
My skull is highly pressured,
Of an easy life, not assured.
As I could burst a vein,
Going to drive in the slow lane.
Can’t make out what’s the matter,
The brain is like soft batter.
You offered to hear me out ---
I don’t know what it’s about!
Tongue made of whipped cream,
Want to but can’t scream.
I cut a figure so pitiful,
Looks coming my way, disdainful.
*Photo by Sam Pineda from Pexels
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Malaysian based in Ipoh trying to learn about the cryptocurrency space.
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