XVIII

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5th day of July 2020

Perplexed Night
by yours truly

It was that night
Gripping the pen so tight
Without a touch of tint on the paper
Figuring something I wish it's more clearer.

Here I am shooking my head many times
Was it the memories I want to write or the lies?
Yet I can't even hit the core I want to point
Words even sound vague after it was composed
I collapsed when a blood spilled on the floor.

I woke up in a white four-cornered room
I felt the wound and I can't even stood
Stabbing myself a pen, it didn't kill me
It was overthinking that unsettled me terribly.

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