Identity
What have I added to the litter of this city. A scrap paper of an identity or many such scraps, stained with the blood of mutilated self. Red mingling with black. Red smudging out the black of the, words, -straining to describe myself- were in an inchoate form, when that stab of desire slicing through the throbbing dullness spilled the lifeless blood, giving life, to the lifeless blood. Lifeless dreams trickled through the stupor of the sleepless night -a night alive because of living desires and a night dying because of dying dreams- into that culvert and past that dumpster, where,you will find a cache of my dreams and the remnants of my being.
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