I plucked the feathers from you One by one You weren't screaming with pain As I offered to heal you for sure When it's time for the last feather You knew I would never heal you You felt the scent of my betrayal A drop of clear crystalline tear rolled down from your eye I do showed the cruelty to pluck that Last essence of beauty from you Last essence of your beautiful existence Your last feather I flew away with the wings Made of your feathers Feathers with blood stains Blood with the scent of you I let you rote alone In that valley which I opened to you The valley of silence and nobody But the scent of your rotten heart Here I exist in the most beautiful place With my wings made of your feather With crowded streets and happy faces But still with the scent of your feathers Feathers stained with blood Blood from a rotten heart
Healing is a habitual action. A mind that's hurted needs a cure. Nobody but you can do it. And the cure you give is actually being who you are and doing things you like to cultivate positivity. Whenever you loose control over it i.e, whenever your dopamine is deposited to somewhere transient the healing cycle breaks. Whatever hurted you comes back and gains control over you. Seek the world's pleasure but never break the string with yourself. That's where healing happens and that's where you would find peace. . . . . PS : Content came from true experiences.
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