Ashes that I now carry within my pockets,
All those letters, I penned obliviously.
What could I burn other than me?
For All I've cried after are those times-
I died a little more.
Think of it, moments of sixteen,
And all I did was to knit intricate fantasies-
Now what? Unconscious; pathetically injured.
Left with hazy echoes of all those times-
I died a little more.
  • Pakistan
  • BergabungJuly 3, 2017


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