A rat died on the terrace. It wasn't as repulsive as in my head.
I'm trying hard to write like another. Its most shameful, but very difficult to stop.

They killed a man at a place close by. Then they burnt tires on the road.
Two actors from across the seas are in the country. No one's seen them yet.
Many many things happen.

All the world's a play, and I am but the clown.
Soon I will be replaced.

Teeth that fight each other for space.
Education that left marks on fingers, each.
Hair that mixes nonchalance with inherited wisdom.
Eyes that move like glass houses.
Nails, unbitten but for one.
Feet covered. Always.
A Stomach like roads in Delhi.
My grammer is lost.
Obsessions.

I come. I go.
Like a rhyme should.