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The Inkling
I have an inkling
My writing is winking
At me behind my back
Or maybe its just blinking,
Mindlessly thinking
While wrinkling up
My tiny universe
By tinkering
And intermingling
The real and the false~
I hear a clinking,
A chilling kind of whistling;
What is that stinking pricking
I can feel bristling
Up and down my spine?
Copyright ©
Chetta Achara
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