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The Cycle

A force to be reckoned with recounts its endless cycle.

*Trigger warning for Mental Illness.

Illustration by Jaden Tsan (Graphic Design Director, The Continuist) IG: @jadundun

By Zahra Yassiri (she/her, IG: @yassirizahra)

The world drowns

Void of any sound

They all drop dead -

The moment l open up,

An endless weep fills

Their tiny little head.

I am not graceful

Not at all, in fact

You'd cover your ears If

you heard my screams

Like a helpless mother

Deprived of a daughter,

Somewhere, grieving.

My voice isn't soothing

Chalk like, it scratches

The depths of despair I

choke while l cry

My eyes pop out

Of their sockets

Their heart plummets Eyes

averted, mere glances

Given like drops in a desert

I am only seen as a hazard.

A blizzard of emotions

Devours me of power I let

it slowly wash over The

remaining anger The rest is

all silence Till drought

takes over.


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