I am afraid that I may lose it.
The speed that the rain falls from the above
Accelerated by the number 9.8
I could clash and burn
But what would be next?
The feather I once sensed
The moment the touch lingered upon my finger tips
I could just smell it all right.
I keep scratching and scratching
Until a bit of blood focuses on my skin.
I see the red, I block it with a piece of tissue.
It seems to stop for few seconds
Then start coming out again.
Why do I scratch, I do not remember.
Something about the rain,
Something about the feather.
I could start reaching for a million subjects.
Something about searching.
And then again,
I was fearful of losing it,
Of the possibility of losing it,
But then again,
Mainly, of losing it.
A little too sad,
A little too fast,
A little too scared.
I am losing it.
That is what it seems to be.
Am I still scratching
Am I still searching
Let me ask that to you