Mediocrity of my days bores me,
The world is full of possibilities
Wanderlust is romantic
Life sparks in disproportionate dreams
of the world being an oyster.

Mediocrity intoxicates me
So does boredom.
Four walls of my world
has nothing to offer
nor does the oyster,
my fingers bleed
in efforts to break free
The scars make me invincible
And I live the pain, again and again.

I crave blood, and the sting
Broken nails scratching walls
Bruised hands in battleground
To kill and maim.

The world is not my oyster
My world is my shield
From all the possibilities
And the dreams.
I do not romanticise wanderlust
I fall in love everyday
With bruised hands and scarred fingers
They are the memories
Of a battle I never wanted to win.