boo . my back hurts . it always hurts when i have over-stressed myself . it's as if my body is warning me . u better rest or else ! ha .
sitting here in my room , i potray an attire of white , with fingers stained of numerous colours of the world . big black round muffin like things are my source of music , hindi is what's playing . table is scattered with different coloured pens . there , at the far end , lies a blemished sight . once balmy , now nothing but a mere thing of the past . stained on the outside with trickles of sticky colourless liquid . inside , it was as if a fog of lightish brown had swept it , living up its mundane existence by the sunken place . i have used u , i say , time to go back to where u belong . it cries out for aid , but to its expected disappointment , it is yanked by its arm, swept away from its stand . it is gone . it mends its broken heart of glass for the ten thousandth time . too many cracks , too many memories , being washed away into the humdrum pipes of its home . it smiles and whispers, i must try again . and so it stands proud again by its hinges , waiting expectingly for its next departure .
what is IT ?
make a guess .
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