The world holds
the darkest pall all over me
the steady state of solitude
—my misery
the clouds are grey
I go astray
the trees are in
dark shades of green
the mountains clad
in every sin I've had
committed, I swear to god
never had I felt so
shameful and
sinful as I lay
on the ground tasting
the bitter taste of drizzle
out of blasphemy, it's awful
beneath the surface
unknown to my eyes;
I begin to ponder now
how would I
build a stronger ceiling
without doing anything
one that's no longer
stone-cold laden
with too much of
dark grey clouds and
tempestuous skies
forming in
a simultaneous manner —
one that's no longer
insurmountable

Help me o u t
Help me h o w
to cope up.