Befall

My heart…
Scribbling.
The more I fall,
better I get.

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The more I fall,
better I get.
In your visions of mundane mud
I try to cleanse through my soul
Where the heavens,
these locutions are streaming me?
I really don’t know.
Just pouring in the cup of
this wonderful poetic journey
My heart…
Scribbling.
The more I fall,
better I get.
In your reflectors of dig dust
I try to scratch each wound,
Again, I’m ready to behead,
For my words can’t ever be dead.
Р©err1585 (aka Ritika)

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