The Passengers - Poem by Hardik Vaidya
Some holding steel handles.
Those seated, in various scandals.
Asleep, completing unfinished orgies of last night.
Awake, faking understanding of bought press.
In trance, listening to music, cumming to Nirvana.
Extinct relics, writing poems.
Shhh.... The Passengers are travelling.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You