Put on a  childish voice,


your indifference is all a lie,

spilling with anger,

as I see,

you are porous,

and yet so absorbent,

always hot,

bubbling with lava,

the sieves that run through your body,

run a blood like fluid,


not blood itself,

it is thinned with conceit,

your pride has swelled your head,

which is bigger than your body now,

consuming all that is left,

all that ever was you,

a dwarf of a soul,

if any,

too wrapped up ,

too coiled to straighten out,


a caricature of buffoonery,

trivial as you may sound,

so feeble are your attempts of surfacing,

all that I see of you,

is you


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