I could see the wrinkles and scars,
Of my own withered reflection,
Not sure if they’re fading away,
Or just my weakened blurred vision.

I can feel my pale arid skin,
With my tumbled down palms,
It kills me recalling how I were,
Than the pages left on my diary.

I look like a clown with this dress,
Dotted apron which is too large,
Standing in the line for my turn,
In an empty room with an empty mind.

I am marked with red dots on my chest,
Dragged me into a whirling monster,
Along with the burning inside me,
Felt like being drowned on magma.

With raised heart, I closed my eyes full of tears,
Wanted to recall the happiest moments, not fears,
Never thought, I would see the days will disappear,
Will they remember who I was, that’s my only fear.

Dead silence across the room, we were both looking down,
Whilst I tried my best to read the emotions over that face,
Just saw a glimpse of a tear across the eye, falling down,
Things would’ve been different, if that paper had something else.

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