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198 of 365


A succinct eulogy delivered.

Everything desired said.

‘Riya is dead’.


Pain was normal.

Happiness rare.

She romanticised both,

and hung in the middle, of nowhere.


As alcohol flowed down my throat,

the pretense came crashing down,

I felt vulnerable and broken

to the core.


Do you see? He pointed ahead.

I aimed the knife

at the mirror behind him.

Not anymore, I cried.


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