Do you love writings?

The road I remember was swampy and dark Those features were trademark showing the absence of its virginity, road that spoke of having coitus with sinister spirits, road that smelt of smooth soil and monsoon wind like a soul staring my poor bleeding heart Road that spoke of scars, of pain, of misery, of debt, of hate, of rape, of trampled path, of death, of strive for existence, of lost purpose, of unwise decision Yet the road was dark, embracing the art of self sacrifice, I could see it, smell the homeliness, even the flash light of my phone couldn't suffice to cure it I was walking further down the path with my mobile as a torch light and mentally immobile, I was scared of heading towards night that was more and more dank and quiet Winds were blowing stronger with my heart being kept in a fridge I then suddenly dropped my phone as if being seized by the soil I bowed down to pick it up but I was in turmoil, aware of a smell quite familiar, was it coming f...

                               Picture Credit:  perzikhoofd.deviantart.com/art/Lost-in-thought-427293580 How sweet are your thoughts and philosophies? Are they too good to be true or too much grounded to reality? Actually, what is reality? Is it a definite shape? Or someone's abstract smell you feel around you? Or they colour of loneliness you're drowning in? Is it just a glassed box? What is loneliness? Is it something you constantly beg to have, or something you constantly beg to have been encountered with warm hugs? The word "loneliness" may give must of us a subtle sting. But most of it all, most of us despise it, just like depression until it takes many a one favourite artists away from us. Now where was I? Philosophy or reality or maybe nothing. I am just typing whatever this smelly dark room solidifies and brings to life. Maybe my mind is lucid. It keeps on dreaming while I constantly have a...