I am done dwelling,
Done with running,
Done with everything thats happening,
Done with this one dimensional living,
Miss the person who was ready to fight,
Could prepare for a event over night,
Use to dream small and achive big,
Always done but never thinks,
Want to re-write the story,
Story which are already engraved on the stone,
The stone which aged like a wine,
Too old so its considered to be one,
and yet so young to even smell that fine,
The white sheets are pilling up,
And not a word have being spoken,
Too much for somone who claims,
"Live a life worth narrating to someone"
Now on a sleepless night,
Lousy day, and endless fight,
Fight with one self,
Fight to be the one for your self,
But whenever I try, a excuse pops up,
Shuts the whole word dry,
Left the sheets white,
Will I ever stop the one dimensional living,
Will I ever stop the wrong things from happening,
Will I ever stop running,
Will I ever instead of dwelling, I will start doing?
