Lost wings…

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The flower which you gave me.

They are now all dried.

I may look happy outside.

But, you killed me from inside.

I feel so tired.

Tired of trying 

Still struggling to survive 

I don’t need your sympathy.

But, I wanted to be me.

My life is a living hell.

And I’m existing, not living.


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However strong a man can be

How much famous he might be

If he got sick of a disease, 

Then he become a slave 

A slave of his disease 

He becomes like a dead leaf

Which can move around 

But with the help from the wind.