it was jus a tiny spot, a blemish in my pretty peaceful life.
then in my curiosity i kept scratching at it.
when i'm happy, when i'm sad.
until the spot grew into a hole.
that's interesting...does it hurt?
from the hole i just kept digging.
when i'm irritated and angry,
digging at that hole seems to be a solace for me.
until i'm digging a pot hole.
from there it just grew.
i don't seem to realise.
and i don't seem to want to stop.
my hands ache now and then.
but i can't stop.
my friends exclaim.
look at all that dirt you've piled onto youself!
am i? is that what i'm doing?
i don't know.
i don't seem to care.
where am i now? in a very deep hole i think?
a cave? a crater?
my very own grave it seems.
goes way beyond the 6 feet...
but that doesn't seem deep enough.
this is no sanctuary.
for the deeper i go, the more pain i feel.
how many such holes can i afford to dig?
i don't know.
but what i do know is that it takes alot to get out of the blardy hole.
especially one that i dug myself.
and one can never learn from his/her mistakes.
one can only escape.
please leave me to my own devices.