Written on- 15 February 2023
Published on- 16 February 2023Steadfast sunsets,
Crooked evenings.
Lake of frets,
A crowd of gleaming mournings.Tounge of wind,
Lips a facade.
Fleeting mind,
Gloom cascade.A lonely distant star,
Burns one of its planet.
Traces of feelings float afar,
Like smoke's streamlet.Unwrapped returned gifts,
Knocks on my door.
The Smooth talker lifts,
The lips of not one but four.What's love to such a heartbreaker?
A game to play or a trophy to win?
More the merrier, more the messier.
Short broken love in a broken inn.🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹
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I Bleed Blue ✔
Poetry[A poetry collection] As Ernest Hemingway said , "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." And that's what I did because that's all I could. For I came across a roadblock, and I didn't really want to brood.