Life aside from being ironic
Is also sometimes odd We cry and find reasons For things, vague and vogue We live with hope, with dreams we fly To nowhere we find solace We breath, we exist, we survive But still we remain, hollow and bland. The unreachable, we try to climb And soften the permeable A heart once like a solid rock Even love, unreal, it stirs, it disturbs. These oddities are, however, the spice that stirs the life they enhance the aroma and deaden the enigma.
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Author A mother, an aunt, a sister and a friend, they embody my personality. Archives
November 2015
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