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My head is overloaded;
My thoughts are the bullet,
And my brain is a hapless victim.
Not life, not death, not you, nor me—
The doctors call this an
‘you are in the midst of believing
Your life has no external meaning,’
He says, ‘don’t worry, you’ll get over it.’
In the hurricane of my reality,
I crack; my thoughts ****** my brain,
And I say goodbye to tranquillity,
And you with your fragile frame.
I’m not sad—I’m too lost feel
Grief. Instead, I realise this is what I need.
To part ways with our partial ordeal.
I hope happiness is what you bleed.
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