entrapment

Eleven years of education slipped by without the slightest notice of my illiterate. I think - I think I might have just forgotten how to write.

The words are mahjong tiles shoved into a box stored at the dusty recesses of my mind, forsaken and forgone for The More Important Things In Life. They reincarnate in the wallpapered ceramic bricks in college ostensibly circumventing me but I don’t see.

You can’t see when you stop feeling and the coarseness of my fingers built up from friction against jagged bricks desensitises all and more.

These words can never spring up further than the flat surface it’s written on. The cursor is but a façade to pretend there’s more to it than really.

You don’t just live, half-alive for no reason. But until you see, you’ll always be pining Tantalus, only aimless