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October 5, 2024 at 4:16 am
#6196
On a sore September night, I sit in my room with knots in my stomach.
Summer was so merciless its teeth sharp as a knife biting through my tender flesh
Now I sit in my room with my punctured skin blee
Summer was so merciless its teeth sharp as a knife biting through my tender flesh
Now I sit in my room with my punctured skin blee
On a sore September night, I sit in my room with knots in my stomach.
Summer was so merciless its teeth sharp as a knife biting through my tender flesh
Now I sit in my room with my punctured skin bleeding, my warm blood but now turned cold dripping through my fingers as I try to remember and paint a picture of my true self on a wooden canvas.
I’m just a fetus with layers and layers of skin, a long-term desire for motherly love still waits deep in my heart.
Now my nasty greenish corpse-looking body is so envious of the mighty ash-brown figure I’m painting.
So much of me has died during the past few eons it has just been bleeding and dying, bleeding and dying.
I have drained myself so much so that to have this bloody tea, I created this great sea, just filled with misery and salt, the concentration of the salt is much greater than the Dead Sea for me to scrub it over and over again on my open wounds. Feeling all synonyms of pain, agony, affliction, torture, and discomfort and then I put up a show of self-pity for the self I have lost…
SUNDAS ANJUM
Summer was so merciless its teeth sharp as a knife biting through my tender flesh
Now I sit in my room with my punctured skin bleeding, my warm blood but now turned cold dripping through my fingers as I try to remember and paint a picture of my true self on a wooden canvas.
I’m just a fetus with layers and layers of skin, a long-term desire for motherly love still waits deep in my heart.
Now my nasty greenish corpse-looking body is so envious of the mighty ash-brown figure I’m painting.
So much of me has died during the past few eons it has just been bleeding and dying, bleeding and dying.
I have drained myself so much so that to have this bloody tea, I created this great sea, just filled with misery and salt, the concentration of the salt is much greater than the Dead Sea for me to scrub it over and over again on my open wounds. Feeling all synonyms of pain, agony, affliction, torture, and discomfort and then I put up a show of self-pity for the self I have lost…
SUNDAS ANJUM
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