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Nov 2019
Like the torn pages of some book, my heart leaps in to look, dabs of watermark, screams with ache, shattering in the corner with a broken quil, scarttering ink
The spurts of red ooz, down the thin lining, skating through the white sheets
I think of, what my fears tend to paint, a terrible sin, taled by a dark saint
Robed in pale, clear as a glass trans, bears the spurts with that of an ink mark
Glows with the hit of ray, ignites the jealous spark of the impossibilities
It's breath, hovers my shoulder with a sticky wetness odor
Clenching and sniffing as if ripping my veins out of order
A slight touch of my hand spooked ****** ambience in a blink
Of that of some air brush smearing spurts of ***** ink...

Spilling imagination.
Written by
Seema  38/F/Fiji Islands
(38/F/Fiji Islands)   
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