When She Laughed Sadness
It was pain. It was sadness.
It was those disruptive echoes that broke her.
The silence that deafened her roses to dry.
It was the blank paper that ate her.
She did not understand what her ink looked like.
It was still somehow a blank paper—
nothing new, nothing piercing,
but it was slowly becoming fragrantly disgusting.
She tried to push it away,
keeping a faint smile on her face.
Trying her best to live the day
to bleed stories not meant for her ink anyways.
It was when she realized that the words have rotten,
even if it was never her intention to dry them.
It will never come back or maybe it could,
but until then, she laughed sadness
where everyone listened but never understood.
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