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Writer's picturethe graveyard zine

The End

by: Tisha Choudhari


The end has eyes

that glint during the holidays

that hide in the tangle of lighting

eyes woven in the fabric of my iridescent dress


The end, it is forgotten

in times like these

it's forgotten like the cold

in the thrill of colorless winter days

painted in lurid shades by us.


Despite this epilogue

We stare, starry-eyed, at the beginning

Suspense, what will this new time bring?

It was given a rather dazzling welcome, thus wouldn't it be fair if it were dazzling too?


The end is forgotten:

stripped of lights;

shut away in some darkened corner of our mind's corridor;

shut away, along with the lessons learnt, the battles fought.

The walls are scrubbed clean

to be adorned and wrecked by what is to come.


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