《Inks of Heart》37

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Volume low,

All the way to zero.

Whiplash of emotions,

Stuck and non-stop.

Gazing and capturing,

The time travel;

Moving forward,

Each passing moment.

Train of thoughts,

Loud as a siren.

Yet a statue

Is the mask.

The volume doesn't matters,

Nor do the swings,

Don't bother;

It's just a statue anyways.

~☆~✧~✧~☆~

Inside and out.

Anna

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