Through my glassy eyes, I see nothing.
Inside my exhausted self, there is nothing.
Nothing more or nothing less.
My life has left nothing.
And I’m just nothing
I suppose.
Probably the hustle and bustle
started engulfing my capability to view things as they are since then.

I’m not a fortune-teller.
I can’t simply predict anything.
I’m not a psychologist.
I can’t see through your something.

However, bear in mind.
Give me your trust if you would
And I’ll offer you anything much lovelier than nothing.



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