There is a lump in her throat,

It grows just like the silence on her lips.

She sits there frozen in thought,

While it spreads a cobweb of denial.

Binding inescapable syllables

To interwoven shadowed threads.

Her train of thought

Shrouded in darkness,

Unable to accept

What’s buried inside her head.


It’s getting hard to swallow now-

Fighting against time

And her own stifling pride.

She can feel it.

She can’t help it.

She’s paralysed.


So she paints on a rouge kiss,

Ties on a silk scarf and takes to the streets.

Masking emotions with charismatic smiles

And an adopted feigned indifference.

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