Somtimes being in a loop, Sometimes out of it, Living the life loop by loop, Sometimes like knitting, Sometimes like knotting, At the end, What is in hand? The whole thing is nothing.
Memories haunt tortured souls... Souls which are ripped into pieces... Pieces isolated by sharp edges... Edges that stabbed the broken heart... Heart that can never be cured again... Again my mind gets drowned in the poetry of memories...
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