late april, early may
i beg your mercy
may you pass as swift as the cyclone passes india and bangladesh
here i make my prophecy
already catastrophic enough
i kneel down on hard ground
beg for your mercy
drip dropping are my tears
burying my fear
my angst still explodes
all drained my chunky torso with feeble limbs
crawl not but slide can i only
eyes on pessimism
i smell my blood
why conforms to traditions you hypocrite
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