Laying on the horizon of Abyss world, As waves of melancholy resonates while hitting beneath my bare heart,
Where fate adding good deeds as feather to my quill and mistakes as scars on my skin, as if positive and negative playing hide and seek in my life. I'm a lone soul where words weaving intrinsic webs of multiple layers as a chrysalis wrapping around me from haunting past.
Yet verges of my nib seeps magnificent ink getting diluted by drowning in salinity, even a spill of clumsy blot can decipher muses of my very existence,
Cacophony of wrenching bones, screeches of flesh while blood gushing in veins are humming as a duple to the rhythms of my poetry.
Capturing every moment in nib are hooking as framed metaphors on the doodles of wall pages, provides me complete home nostalgia.
I ain't stop writing until ink replaces my blood as going to be a monarch to four chambers of my heart and one day my vein thrives from crevice flesh and spills a wild myrrh flowers as poetry.
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