With each passing second…slowly he lost breath.
Solemn and still he lied on bed…as the writer awaited his death.
In his mind that moment…thoughts drifted amidst nauseating blanks few…
Random thoughts many…of words he had written…of people he knew…
Of that one girl he loved…and yet wanted to hate as well…
Another thought interrupted all of sudden…will it be heaven for him…or hell
Whatever it will be …it has to better than life…that was the deal…
For which he had embraced death on his own…to end an endless ordeal…
Poison spread through his veins…and conquered over his every part…
He knew not what was being destroyed faster…a creative mind..or a broken heart…
And so a writer died…in his last few moments of solemnity…
Drifting apart from his existence..away from life…that granted him his identity…
And so another writer ends his last words few…
That writer had met his fate…this writer awaits his destiny too…

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