Epitome...

It is certainly difficult being born as an epitome of failure. Nobody likes to fail. Neither do they wish to do so. But, despite all the efforts, time, energy and everything that is involved in trying to avoid failing, when the ultimate result is otherwise, there we have myself shining brightly as the lone star burning off all the vocabulary at my own self. 

How dare you...?

If I have to write to you, I have very less to ask. Why did you do it? What made you do it? How could you do it? That's it. The years of shame that you are living now, I have nothing much to ask about. This high level of rage, that never ending sense of disgust, the realisation of how horrible humans can be, those are the constants in Life today. 

The tirade...?

Heavy sighs... Hurrying Life... Heart wrenching happenings... Melodies of yesteryears... Oh, how can it be thinkable to term it or throw it aside into yesteryears? Since when did it make sense to talk sensible, when the same senses and sensible talk went fishing while delivering the betrayal? If I lay claim on what is rightfully mine, how does a b@stard's daylight robbery and an uncouth rascal's decision make sense? Everything is flying past so fast. Where is the guarantee for my lost years and Life?