Extraction

The glitchy app takes my senses out, still when I look around for that person,

My someone.

The pink filter has taken a good part, but the sound makes me hopeless.

The screen is so unkind, 

Except some regular ones,

Who just come to be there just.

My works seem like they've to be discarded, but it's the game of my eyes, brain and hands, 

I need more to carry my sound.

Sulky mornings which are like updates of a pitiable cellphone,

plain and taking out my morning spirit,

Quarrels which take the cost of my head, biscuits and a glass of tea, and my whole appeal before the invisible society.

I'm so lazy for a bath, a brush, but I feel it pricking me, 

the virtual beats soothing me,

Planning to jot down whatever I feel, and distracted by my own mundanity,

Steps fast to take the class ten maths text size English book, just to place and lie,

And a confused reading afterwards, 

some rechecks,

When Wole Soyinka pushed me out of my cave with a tight smile.

The checkings of my teachers may say that words can't just make that out, 

every moment when gives a prick,

running out of my lines, 

when small outbursts take their toll on me, 

when I fear whether I should write or not, live or not, my hope getting running out,

hours after Vedhika's and Chembakamadom showoff.