For what a recluse writing for

A recluse,

probably bound to be.

With all the efforts and time

declared as lifeless and numb.

Raging and screaming but voice were unheard

Scripting, rhyming and styling the writing

Its a state of unconscious gamble for light

Or just to deliver the message to her who were always unkind

Dusty sight is causing moist in the corner of the eyes

A blurry world left to dwell

Everyone is strange

Every house is blessed

All the people turning away

Now only this house is left

Safe to live

Safe to hide

An ancient pleasure of being alive

A desperate feelings to write

To change her mind

Hope she would read and become little kind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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