The Ticking Cursor

The Ticking Cursor

The ticking cursor irritates me, as if it’s teasing me.

Teasing me, staring at me, as if it doesn’t give a ****.

I kept looking back at it, asking him to shut up.

But my brains shut and my heart opens, trying to write all the shit that just happened.

Why can’t my thoughts process slow, slower than my hand move,

Why can’t my hands move faster as if it’s my mobile keypad.

Write, write, write and what not to write, What if someone reads,

I kept stopping myself, whenever I felt it is just my belief.

Belief to fall in love and rise again or just keep drowning to the deepest shit.

My heart knew what I felt but my hands kept moving totally extremes.

As if my hands could think, of those unsaid flings.


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