His convoluted figure appeared,
like an aftermath of a macabre,
Dissolved and distorted,
In her convulsed thoughts.

Whether it was a reality,
Or a figment of her imagination,
With determined affirmation,
No one could tell.

Some called it her hallucination,
And few wrote heroff,
but she knew deep within,
It was him beneath the glowing skin,
And waited for the truth to dwell.

Copyright © Shantanu Baruah

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4 thoughts on “Macabre”

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