17 december 2021
Infinite Loss
Small truths
of gun battle,
with black roses in hands,
beg for peace.
You fly with broken wings,
and fall like a damp squib.
The darkened facts
in outsized pain, want to
revert back to line of separation.
How will you enter
into the sinless book to find
the words of a prophet?
Nothing was personal.
I have come to you―
to complain about you.
Your wrinkled eyes
look straight through me, and
push me into a dark blue lake.
I want to go dumb?
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