The Mistress of an Ellipsis

A broken promise,
denuded of integrity,
submerged in the
inverted dome;
two calloused palms,
crestfallen underneath
synaptic transmissions,
obsessing over burnt bridges,
giving credence to fallacies,
pathetic as ever;
attributing emotions
to an indifferent body,
drawing inferences,
dipped in faulty syllogisms,
where are you headed?
towards a conclusion,
a one with an end—
you can die to conceal.

©songbriti

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