The Sisyphus
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Article 1

Unsolicited Thoughts

Bitter-Sweet (Mostly bitter) Second Home

I say it's waking up at 5am in the morning, perplexed, not able to smell the coconut oil and see the stains of brandy and tomato sauce on your bedsheets.

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Article 1

Poetry

Somewhere far from the loud chaotic Dhaka//I'm ending this year

I'm ending this year, with 100 pebbles inside my rib cage
I'm ending this year, with a pair of warm baby sized sock
I'm ending this year, without spilling my flaccid words on you
I'm ending this year, somewhere far from home//Far from the loud chaotic Dhaka
I'm ending this year with cold feet but not from cold renaissance-esque

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Article 1

unsolicited thoughts

Last Time was never the last time

I wish I was doing my archeological science project right now, instead of writing here, vomiting all my thoughts out like a troglodyte darting away. I wish there was enough blue light in this room. I have been asking myself why it is that...

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Article 1

unsolicited thoughts

Micah's little memoir : Little bit of everything and Jazz fueled suicidal phase

It's been so long that I forgot my face, my forlorn visage. I forgot the way I feel. I forgot my lover's face. I forgot my mother's face. I forgot that I'm a sentient being drowning in...

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Article 2

Poetry

Expired memory on VCR

I no longer wear the rose-colored glasses, But catch a glimpse of you through An disposal polaroid camera. My heart bottled up so much sauded...

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Article 1

Poetry

I fell off

I fell off from the bed beside my keepsake jar Blunt rusty winter cutting me And its claws....

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Article 1

unsolicited thoughts

Hollowness within Static Noise

Sorry, it's been so long. I just realized I hadn't thought about it amidst all the glittery and bumpy days that went by. I wish I could tell you that I have been running unremittingly. Something inside doesn't sleep well, staying

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Article 1

unsolicited thoughts

And How I // A gist of bitter sweet existence

I'm writing this like an amanuensis but empty-headed, and my feet cold from the mosaic that looks like a mediocre renaissance painting. I woke up at midnight, staring at the empty fishbowl and an expired juice box behind it. As I pass through each strobing street light and as my shadow gradually grows, I wonder...

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Article 3

Poetry

Sunday Grief Vending Machine

Scorning times Deviating from my path, And tedious evening's I no longer reminisce about the dalliance And my heart doesn't beat like it used to When I smell the cherry...

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