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My fingers are bleeding,
I have eaten into their tips.
Trying to trap myself between pages
Sadly, the high of words is fleeting.

Maybe God weaved this
Inclination into me.
Maybe the Devil holds the antidote.
Should I bargain with my soul?

Now I sleep with my
Hand on my pulse.
Grasping and losing the meaning
Of life simultaneously.

My mother has been betrayed
By her metabolism.
I helplessly sedate myself
In pulp Eminem tracks
From a hopeless distance.

Today I saw a precursor
For a major depressive episode
That has been doing push-ups
Since last year’s November.

This could be my kingdom come!

image

This art was done by a friend of mine and classmate Sumit Kumar.

Herbert Uba

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