Belle ame ma Dear December!
You know what! My therapist is a maniac
portraying ,love is a faulty weapon.
I must confess,it was against my will
Nary a confession of a broken heart,
as love is my purpose
never lulled by lovely lies,
Am I kin to sorrows? Ofcourse not
Then why me? Projecting me as a subject to the humdrums.
I'm glad, I'm here,
never wore a veil of melancholy,
beneath the cold moon,every night kneeled to hug me,
highlights of happiness
muffled up in coat of summer dreams
curating the scented...