The writer lost his pen
The lion is outside its den
I don’t feel awaken
struggling in my battles but still it is uneven.

How can I fight?
when you don’t want to be my knight
I am choking, It’s too tight
Every day in darkness, all day’s a night.

Believe me, I am a prey
but at least once in a year, I pray
when I dosed Xanax all day
It makes me sick, as I lay.

Don’t mind me, It felt great
Tasting farewell like chocolate
There standing on my grave is my mate.
I hope he won’t mind that he is late.

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