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Oct 2019
My thoughts are like a wreath
of rising smoke,
an incessant patter
of the chattering rain.
Ascending slowly, they snare me
into their steely grip
choke my throat steady
with a hand of silk
until
I can feel, and breathe
no more.
Shreya Mishra
Written by
Shreya Mishra  26/F/India
(26/F/India)   
158
 
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