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Her addiction..


She doesn't drink
She isn't addicted to ash trays
She isn't from a gang of night sneakers
But she has lost herself
But she has given her time
But has hangover for the sun and the moon
But hesitating human company
She likes wondering with clouds
Shutting her lips to humans
She likes talking to wind
Giving deaf hear to music of life
She likes listening chaos of her thoughts
They tell her to learn words
Humans tell her to learn their words

She has hangover of a guy
Who invoked a thought in her
To pen her words rather then inking them on paper balls

But she isn't addicted nor in someone's company
That mumma would deny to keep
Or will she?
Like they say addiction are no good
The reciet the same poem to her
It's not good treasure a known stranger
But,
Life lines can't be thrown or left behind
So is she

Penning him
Penning the unlived moments
Penning the wrapped past
Penning the blooming present

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