Warfront

Our body is constantly at the war-front,
Constantly choking on the stardust,
Constantly, blatantly fighting for that warmth and happiness by just a phone call,
Constantly rendering itself between the witchcraft of the brain and the heart,
Constantly numbing emotions and pain,
Constantly forming a thick skin of honey, which when touched by anyone marked them with warmth and good intentions,
Constantly going against the wind to walk,
Constantly healing itself by blankets of sympathy and Band-Aids of new skins with scars caressing our memories,
Constantly waking up from a little world into this hopeless reality,
Constantly antagonizing the past and the mess you created,
Constantly bleeding to dorm clots of hope and care,
Constantly growing despite of breaking, like the strands of your brunette hair in sunlight which when turn into threads of gold,
Constantly surviving this loneliness with a bunch of soothing words,
Constantly trying to pretend something we are not, just like an imposter of the surreal world,
But we are at peace, they say,
Because they notice our eyes and the eye of a hurricane is the calmest part of the deadliest storm.

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