TOILET PAPER : I weave my thoughts on this toilet paper spinning it like a Tibetan prayer wheel, only to see it swirl down into the maelstorm..knowing what it leaves behind will be nothing but a hollow shell

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I Can Be Fixed

As the toxic stick in my mouth fumes away to glory as to do justice to the name of the blog, hazing my loo, my fingers fall on the keypad. The fumes did what it had to , murking the air around me and tarring the air inside me. The scene repeated itself a million times since I created this blog, nearly a week back. The scene had to repeat because it was the part of a noble attempt of finding out the essence of my very first blog post. This first post is tough and I believe this is the toughest, because the writings after this needn’t be meaningful, it was never intended to be meaningful, after all that’s why the place is called The Loo and the piece I write on, called Toilet Paper.

I ridiculed my innate desire to be with her with a hand gesture and mocked it off with two words, Good Bye. I felt, my heart deserved a little sympathy and I had to acknowledge the pain. But my usual acknowledgement of pain involved immersing myself in toxic potions and weaving nets of smoke around me, but my inside, already looked like those dead lizards put in formaldehyde in the biology lab. So I decided to let it be. Then again, this is not the first time that lady goodness have lost to me. They all steamed with confidence when they took up ‘me’, and told me I can be fixed. I know they all tried hard. Never blamed them for not trying, but they didn’t say they’ll try. They said I can be fixed.