I loved, He lied. He cheated, I cried. I confronted, He denied. Still unfaithful, I spied. I trapped him, In disguise. I poisoned, He died. An accident, I lied.
Experimented with this new style of poetry. I’m not sure what exactly it is called, may be a micro poem, but it was great fun penning this down. If you have any idea what this style is called, please do let me know in the comments.
I have been reading voraciously since the age of five when I first discovered the joys of reading. I would lap up anything in print. Unrolling an emptied newspaper cone with one hand, stuffing roasted peanuts in my mouth with the other, all the while devouring the printed content on the cone with my eyes, was one of my first experiences in hedonistic pleasure.
In fact, sometimes I feel that I am on an adventurous journey through the secret dreamworld of other people's imaginations, interspersed with occasional visits to my own life to attend events like graduation, first job, marriage, and so on.
As a true-blue reader, I think I am uniquely qualified to comment on and critique other people's works of labour. I can tell exactly what puts the average reader to sleep, what sets their pulse racing, and what has them salivating for more.
Write to me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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2 thoughts on “Goodbye, love!”
It makes an impression.
Thank you so much!