Death By Circles - Poem by Shipra Agarwal
All my words come cloaked in similar colored garbs
It's time to change the ink I guess, or the ink pot.
Oh but, this is blood I'm writing with,
Since when? I try to remember; I cannot.
Ah then, I'll break this quill against my bones
and bleed myself dry.
Foolish songs! take your leave,
It's time for your poet to die.
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