A candid confession from you,
when your identity started protruding
from innocent rage.
You were accepting defeat
without a fight.
The lips tell the grief of human failure,
your prudence propped up
by Prozac.
A beautiful collection of anxieties
adorned on the shelf of life.
A cruise in veins
to dispel the high cholesterol
dewy-eyed mirror
and ambulating pain.
Satish Verma
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