I have had this feeling since a long time. A lifelessness, a lack of movement whether forward or backward and a will to spend some more days without coming back to life. I knew I was living in a rut, for so god damn long that it looked like the only reality I could relate to and fathom. Instead of pushing out of that rut, which should have happened some time ago, I had kept finding strange reasons to enjoy digging even further. I have often felt like a helpless bird, blown away by a strong gale, despite flapping my damaged wings, trying to move out of its way, only to be pushed backwards. It is not like I had not tried climbing out and claiming an existence, but every effort had ended in me finding more reasons to continue such an exercise even in fail, after having realized that I can't face those who had never lived in it. How do I explain the joy of coughing relentlessly before those voices in my head take over and transport me to childhood? The silence and stillness taught me patience, offered me peace, cajoled me by giving a chance of gain knowledge and not chase material gains. As I looked into a mirror, I wasn't nearly the same person who had wore a cloak of false strength to portray a role in a ruthless society. I wasn't the son or the brother I had known myself to be. Relationships had sailed away as I flowed, ebbed and drowned myself in mystic waters. The hollow nothingness offered by life, a void created by time that had lapsed and a realization of the darkness inside my own black door had not left enough of that same person to escape back from a self built prison customarily designed for laughter and sounds of blues. Secretly wishing death, may be after one more high, I crouched and coiled to fit into the hole.