Pen and paper used to be my weapons,
But now they have become my weaknesses.
Writing used to be my meditator,
But all that has vanished,
No meditation for me but
A cup of tea to down down my sorrows

Pen was my voice,
Paper my friend,
My vocals are useless,
My friends have left me,
Alone I am suicidal,
Alone I am defeated,
Alone I am weak,
Alone I am…
My ink is finished,
My book is finished,
My life story is told.
The chapter is over,
An untold is told.

Cigarettes and weed are my meditators,
Booze my friend,
Pen and paper my enemies.

No need for a cup of tea to down down my sorrows.
A new squad is recruited.

Suicidal is my past.

Present is the chapter,
Regret is the future.
The future worms up its way.
The past is back to haunt me,
Pen and paper revisit me at night,
Meditator turned to tears,
Tears to pain,
Pain to regret

The “if I had done that
And did not do that”
Tortures me,
The climax has been reached.
Sorrows have been drowned again and again.
A cup of tea…
A slice of cake…
Who knows?
Might drown the sorrows I’ve raised from the dead.
What do I gasp for?
I found a new book opened.