i cannot call you a form of a father in these times

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fire-spitting

from his lips

throwing meteors at my heart

crashing against the valves

and making their way in my pulsating veins

words like lava

creeping in my skin

burning the epidermis

setting their way in

to make a not so humble home

the language of starsजहाँ कहानियाँ रहती हैं। अभी खोजें