How beautiful the horror you create,
To those who give you agony,
The tears that fall fill my heart,
Deep and dense they touch me,
The smile you hide but I do,
When you have a guilty pleasure,
Sometimes I fear if I am an animal,
As I hold the hunger to feed,
But then i realize it yet again,
I am a catastrophe beyond a nightmare,
But hey you! Are you guilty of having me?
Do I need to tell you that I am everywhere,
Hidden in the mask of niceness,
Laughing behind the white screen,
No matter how much you try,
I am something you can’t deny,
For the fact is you are made of two sides,
The angel and the devil!
Writing is not a skill acquired through practice. Not for us, at least. Writing is a phenomenon that occurred to us when we wanted to shout our thoughts out. It happened when our brains formed a labyrinth of thoughts with no way out. The only way was to break the walls, the walls we constructed in our minds—the walls which stopped us from letting ourselves out. We broke the barriers using the mightiest weapon, the pen. Writing was our way out of that maze. Words and sentences flowed like a stream of some river, which consisted of A2Z instead of H2O. Soon the river filled the brain and the labyrinth was not visible anymore.
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