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There's an insight to this mysterious downpour where each rain drop reminds me of how liked your coffee black. Our slow chaotic moments where you gilded your hand through my hair to comfort my anxiety. Giving me tortured thoughts that are an fiction red reviling each one of your lies. Leading to an iced tomorrow with that wicked lust you have for the other women. The one who plays enlightenment tricks on you but you only see her for the beauty she has. I wonder when you kiss me and pull away to look at my face do see her or do you see the women you once loved.
Night is just night,
without it being told that
it should be dark
and sunless.

It is what it is,
by its own definition.
It does not need stars to shine
In order to make darkness meaningful.

Still, the stars shine.
They do what they do
Without self-acknowledgement,
They simply do.

Like night and stars
And meaningfulness
And Self-acknowledgement.
War lets my blood
escape down a sewage.

Healing surgeries
bring equal results.

In both cases,
what dares again
is blood.
Oh baby, it was a tragedy
**We were each other's hamartia.
Are we?
As the blanket of stars
Light up the sky
Here I drown
In ocean of works

Mountain of papers
Piled in my table
Waves of emails
Left me miserable
9:16pm Still at the office :/
I shut the world out
*Before you became my world.
Okay again. Sorry. (+1)
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