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By Aditi Singh

My orbs stay fixated

On the knuckles painted with

Crimson liquid

Blood, is not all it is

A thousand reveries concocted

Out of desperation

Screaming to be set free

What is it that I seek?

What runs through the mortal flesh

Incredibly transient

Yet so competent to cause

Irreversible, mourning hurt

The flesh around the knuckles

Aches as my slender digits

Fan out, only to

Pull at the roots of

My sweltering hair

Do I now reach through my chest

To rip out the slowed, beating

Heart, or do I-

But I halt as I now realize

The liquid seeping from the

Torn flesh of my hands

Belongs to someone

Filled with dark, swarming flies

I reach the mirror only to find

A reflection of me

Whom I see, know

But unfortunately

Can never recognize anymore

By Aditi Singh

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