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Jenisha Gautam Aug 2020
I thought
Poetry doesn't flow
Through my veins
Now that you are gone
I see, how beautifully
You rhyme the lines
On the pages In my diary
With your remains.
Days spent in you memory
Dark and torturous
Now your touch
On my skin and soul
Turned into bruises
Making me feel numb
Yet again.
Every single night
My tear drops
Draws your name

— The End —