Emptying all the pockets to create a concrete form of soulfulness, with poverty in my background, I was two incomplete halves. A deep scar cut my face in the center, deepened and lengthened into the extremes of my body. A pure soul was forced to give birth to insanity. Hence a new combination of the soul and the body was a new creature and an alien, a schizophrenic and a trypophobic.
A worn sock was lying on the vastness of a stage and dreaming alone. I longed to seek refuge in the dreamy sock as my lust for life grew. The dreaminess of the sock domed over my head, when mother’s cry rattled my ear the day after the Cappuccino.