xlviii.

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'SUNSET'

we'll write meaningless poetry under the setting sky, waiting for something that could make our hearts break so our inspiration will take another turn into something as harsh, heart tearing and gut wrenching as our last masterpieces.

because that's all that we know, so that's all that we'll do, till our fingers bleed for mercy and our souls have broken that many times that our hearts are weeping for us to stop this endless torture.



if i ever stop writing,
then i must've died,
because it seems, like this
is the only outlet that
i have and that i'm
completely free in.

there's no judging here,
because we call it 'art'.

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