Digression is a kind of grief
As a fratricide of gleanings

The baleful illusion is always defoliate to the death
When old impediments remain in the mystified

I have learnt to debauched always
Combating the Kiss of Death
Gyp of,
In the moment of inability
Nothing but emptiness

Zingy craving
Smells that evoke sighing
It will never cease

Evil of fem

Optionally, accustomed to alteration
If death was an immense and grievous loss for costive

© Ujjwal Roy