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On our blissful evening,
I died and was brought back to unfortunate life
Then Beautifully I killed you
I wish I could kill you again and again
Each time I kill you, I love your dead face more and more





AN: In this poem, killing is a metaphor. Can you guess what for?



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No matter how bad it gets just keep on walking. You'll get there eventually, it may not be what you thought, but at least you will be alive.


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by thenightcalls





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