Flickering lights.

Groaning stomach.

I drifted from block to block like an intoxicated ghost.

A hand with a book. The other dangling like a branch.

I am broken, lost and sick. 

The sharp pain on my knees and butt pierced through me.

I threaded slowly as if there were a thousand needles rocketing in my path.

All of a sudden, my life loses meaning.

All of a sudden, I become an aimless driftwood unable to find home.

My stomach is bloated.

Sick from the rice, the curry, the bread, and the sparkling drink; obviously too much for my weak stomach to hold.

This feeling. It's so painful. Yet, so good. I shower myself in sorrow and self pity; Remembering the episodes of darkness and depression; and how futile my life is.

I imagine the world crashing. I imagine myself being nothing but a thin branch to be broken by the strong ruthless wind; I imagine myself losing control, jumping into the sea of commerce, novels and temporal enjoyment; I imagine myself getting slashed by my ill-discipline, suffering from the wounds with regret and a sick enjoyment.

So...

Who am I?