And this semblence

Rekindles the smoldering rudiment fragrances,

Somewhere tearing apart the past rag.

Like the burdening being,

Wafting up the interstices inside

With the anomalies of my being,

Indescribable, indifferent, at times tormenting.

With a guilt worth celebrating

Comes a soul to be possessed

Capability defining captivity

Matching the dead living inside

Nourishing the vapouring interstitial hopes,

Semblent wafers resonant day and night

My memories painted dark,

So is the bordered canvass

Lights up, lifting, and lightning

The transient existence of this eerie,

For the moments gazes meet

A struggle to move and dream begins,

Begging the semblent to be true

Unlike the ghosts of her semblance.

P.S: Illusions.

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