Tears are just salt-water;
The oceans are brimming with them.
Blood flows too freely,
Trapped in unwanted bodies.
Those dying dreams,
Stealing the sleep from tired eyes,
Will drown before they can swim,
Frothing with expectations unmet.
And that pale milky horizon
Will necrose to an inky gangrene
In the shroud of every night.

In the end,
It is such a relief
To be nothing.

[AN- I’ve been having a bad spell recently. It has become so difficult to do anything productive. Insomnia and exams do not mix well.
This isn’t really poetry; it’s more like a page of my diary. It had to be told so that it would leave me.]


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