I dread 11 PM.
I dread happy people.
I dread happy people
Telling me happy stories
At 11 PM on a Monday
Or any day of the week.

I dread unbearable, continuous gossips
And I dread complete silence too
Silence in which I can hear
My poor heart sing an elegy
For whom? I don’t know.

I dread being hard on myself,
For things that were out of my control.
I dread falling prey
To the pattern in which
These events keep repeating.

I dread knowing
And I dread not knowing.
I dread the day when
My mind would declare
Victory over my heart
Or vice-versa.

I dread meeting someone
Whom I would want to shelter
Under my own skin
And not being able to explain it to them.

— PD