in the white rectum of silence, these walls have now ceased to question my existence in it's tall standing on the other side of the puddle.disappointment or out of sheer boredom perhaps. the combined force of agent z's fail to make me talk.
why? because i simply cant relate to them.
"what a horrible meal"
"why can't they hire a north-indian cook"
silent sobs interrupted by high-pitched rambling. each day i choke during breakfast, lunch and dinner and not because of food, mind you!
but then isn't it so much better than daily discourses on
casteism,
nationalism,
humanism?
i wonder.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
No comments:
Post a Comment