There’s a bucket full of white paint Right in front of my feet If you ask me, it’s white But they have named it moonlight I stare at the white liquid Like a queen staring at her crown I ask the walls, would they mind, if I choose to drown? Hearing all the silent responses From all sides of the room I decide to think of the consequences Before the sickly smell makes me swoon First, I would enter my fingers, The paint molecules would then subside Like the Red Sea, splitting, into ripples Making way, like wedding guests for bride Then I would be engulfed in entirety By the black hole viewed in a negative filter I won’t swim but stay still And let the paint be my shelter When I come out of the liquid I’ll be a walking white wagonette Carrying the load of insanity And meaningless twenty-six alphabets I will have long nails painted white With the tips dripping off liquid Like a melting vanilla ice cream, Disappearing every minute I wonder...