The poem he never named, but became…

Time! Well, it’s a woeful panacea! What happens, when the knife of time cuts you into bits and pieces leaving you absolutely numb? What happens when time snatches away your life from you ? I don’t know about most people, but I bleed in words. I pour my bleeding heart into poems.

Absolute ethereality and surrealism takes over my mind and I pen down thoughts for him. Thoughts about him are beautiful. In a way they kill me; kill me cause I’ve got a stitched heart, that’s freshly wounded.

Beauty of words is lethal!

They kill my bones (ouch)… they shoot darts at my heart ( oh damn, I still have one).

Living despite being killed a million times!



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