arunabh biswas

Not My Song

I've helped those who couldn't help themselves
And yet find myself beaten by these cliches
Like smoke between my lips and the red on the parched bed
I'm a virgin still, a living dead.
Not many read my mind, so I wind and rewind
Everything there is to say,
Every word that I've prayed
Only between these words they exist,
Like the flying demons they persist

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