they said that what you draw, compose or write is the exact mirror of what you feel, then how come now I feel empty but am still able to write words, phrases, or excerpt. How am I still able to voice out poems and excerpt to my friends when inside, I am hollow and barren.
These feelings that sleep within me, makes me rile up in emotions, fake as it seems but how can I explain, when in the end it's already the last game.
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