I write incomplete poems
I stopped singing my favourite songs
I started sleeping early at nights
I study instead of hike

It feels like a major change
There is yet trouble with what’s at stake
My labels turned oblivious blurred lines
I cannot find love with a single pint

I seek opportunities, not endearment
I am learning to accept, finding fault in self
I prefer lonesome ponders
Yet I let my mind wander

Is there a point to this poem
Or is it a cry to reckon what is wreaked ?
It has to be time to move on;
I fathom to let my mind be in debt


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