When I long for one last hug
To be swept away with past
When there is no remains
No memoirs to remember me back

Can the ghost come back without the longing
To feel alone again, the cycle of emptiness
There is no purpose to come back
Even the lord is tired of looking at bundles of rag

The source has exhausted to the core
Nothing will sprout out of it
The seed has rotten now
Retrieval of past is lost forever.

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To fantasize equilibria
A nice feeling of euphoria
Who will suffer?
Donor or the acceptor
If the hinge doesn’t tilt towards any bowl
Who will provide and who will receive

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