this face is not mine
these hands hold no dust
nor shine
nor an ounce of love that lived on
in the creeks of my skin
i, within
a world submerged
upside down in the waters
of sweetest nonchalance
yet if perchance i wake up
from this terrifying terrifying sleep
hold me tight, sir Tragedy!
for i refuse to fall back:
god knows i can't swim.
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Sometimes what people write make no sense to me, especially if I don't know them or their story.
ReplyDeleteWhat is your story Aranya?
I want it to make sense.
Bien-aimés étranger
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