Walking down the tunnel. 

I see you at the end of the tunnel

As a speck.

The more I get closer,

The smaller you seem to get.

How about you walk to my direction?

Or halt.

I refuse to sprint or run.

My stubborness is a default.

I should have kept myself 

In that four walled vault of mine,

Books rearranged on my shelf

And gave no shit about signs.

Signs and their interpretations

Their sophisticated explanations

Unnecessary expectations

And shallow-based frustrations. 

Should’ve just drank

That cheap Carefree bottle

And left my sentiments just.. Blank.

And not think about what I would’ve done this April.