I want to grow up & be a wanderlust, oh wait I’m a grown up…Damn!

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The disowned art…

Ended up writing a short story on a woman suffering from mental illness…Guess 2am brings out the dead writer in me…

Don’t waste your time staring at me, she said

I’ve got nothing better to do, he said

What do you see, she demanded

Well you certainly aren’t a piece of art, he grinned

Then why don’t you find yourself a museum, she growled

I did only it has the damaged goods on display, he raised his eyebrow

Why don’t you walk away then, she enquired

In that rusted piece of you lies a magnet field, he complained

The sun is making you spit nonsense, she muttered

Your eyes I’m talking about your eyes, he pointed

What about them, she questioned

Even behind a dead soul they shine so bright & blinding, he smiled

What is your name, she smiled back

Albert, he smoothen his tie

Well Albert you’re doomed now for them eyes are cursed, she laughed

How so, he frowned

Anyone who has ever fallen in them has never recovered from the fall, she whispered

How many of them, he wondered

Two so far, she cried

What happened to them, he swallowed a lump

The fall broke them enough to walk away and never come back, she turned away

Might I try the jump, he cleared his throat

My poor Albert you’ve already taken the fall now wait till it hits you, she winked

I won’t walk away, he announced

So said the father & the son, she choked