I counted the solitude within me
that renewed to a blissful glee.
I had like thousands of expressions to be written.
Both those i portray and the hidden.
I found it even prescriptive penning it down.
As untangling all knots put round.
I juggled it the way possible.
Twisting it often,turning it horrible.
It wasn’t a subtraction I adored;
But the envious that aided me to roar.
Roar the chaos that I see,
which in crowd, makes me flee.
I turn young to resolve the stories,
clouded as hell, untangled in ease.
And I turn nineteen writing on walls.
which cherishably made me recall
the passion that I held,
And still hold to spendidly dwell.


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