What blurs from tear
to tear, bone to bone? What was the
real ? Peace will never come.
If you are virtual, I
will become a truth. The horizon
plants the moons one by one.
We are crazy. Running
again after the triangle, clefted by
the voices of sharp knives.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: May 14th, 2024 20:14
- Category: Nature
- Views: 4
Offline)
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