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Zara Waqar

In the eternal dusk of my tormented mind, the relentless cascade of thoughts blurs the line between truth and illusion, a ceaseless torrent of existential questioning. Within this labyrinth of fractured perceptions echoes of the dreadful dance with the whispers of the soul, birth the verse that spills like ink from a fractured heart.

In the eternal dusk of my tormented mind, the relentless cascade of thoughts blurs the line between truth and illusion, a ceaseless torrent of existential questioning. Within this labyrinth of fractured perceptions echoes of the dreadful dance with the whispers of the soul, birth the verse that spills like ink from a fractured heart.




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