There is a dim twinkle in his bloodshot eyes,
As he wanders restlessly in the night,
Muttering sweet nothings to himself,
Rustling of blistered feet as he goes nowhere fast,
Discovering wonders around the blackest of corners,
And losing his way with each beleaguered step,
Undeterred by his curious fans,
“Where are you going?”,
“Are you ok?”,
They glide off him like snowflakes,
You’re not sure if he knows,
You’re not sure if he cares,
But then again,
Do you?