By the bed – deep into the night,
I lay exhausted, in pitiful plight;
With eyes shut and body warm,
My life was in excruciating harm.
I know not how it fell apart,
For, not so long ago, it was art!
Setbacks galore and twists abound,
A dying clock’s needle – life now sagged around.
Hope was another four letter word,
Massacred by destiny’s sword.
Fragments of it flickered with life,
Pointless gestures amid tormenting strife!
Nowhere to go and no one to talk,
None bothered to join me for a walk.
There was someone who would’ve held my hand,
But she’s in the arms of another with land.
Yet, a dazzling smile adorned my face,
The joy of melancholy had its grace,
I knew my day is not far away,
For every slumdog has it’s millionaire day!
P.S.
No, I’m NOT depressed! I wrote this poem long back, when I was down. The other day, when I glanced through my old works I felt this was good enough. 
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- Free Hugs!!
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I’m not a good person to judge poems. But still this made sense to me. Liked the comparisons and the ending was a bit too dramatic