aditya vats

your average 16 year old
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death bed

I stroll around
my deathbed,
too often.
White sheets wrapped
around the
broken
bed’s base and
cotton pillows placed
under the heaven,
Where they’ll
bury my wicked
face

I stroll around
my deathbed,
Too often.
White sheets aching
To wrap my
face
in this solitary
race
Where they’ll burn me
In a maze

I stroll around
my deathbed,
Too often.
Cotton pillows longing
To end this
haze
and let
me gaze

at a piece of happiness
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