Every word tells a story

It got better

It's not the people I abhor
Not even the place itself
It's mostly the feeling I harbor
When recalling the event.

My reaction wasn't a deviation.
Yet, the feeling lingered
far longer ,
awaiting confrontation.

Loneliness bewitched me at the start
A flame, no rather a fog,
which refused with me to part.
The feeling of tripping over a log
Looking at an endlessly ticking clock
The ceaseless thoughts never knock
Maybe I should have put a lock.

But it carried on.

The organized regime contrasted
with the messy spirals in my head.
The routine made others happy
for me it was a nightmare
that'll never end.

But it got better.

Tables telling stories
about the past
about other people's worries

mine lost their bright colors .

They're at the back
I called shotgun
My thoughts now lack
their previous burn.

Change is tough
The surface rough
Abrasive

But I flout
Laugh loud
Frivolity

The point is:
Worry less
Laugh more
Cry less
Smile more

Note: This was written as slam poetry.