For you, a thousand times over.
THE KITE RUNNER
For you, a thousand times over.
THE KITE RUNNER
A poem is a house you haunt with your own ghosts.
There is a reason storms take our names.
The hurricane of our love
will take yours.
Making love to words on paper compensates for everything I cannot have with you.
“If a poem hasn’t ripped apart your soul, you haven’t experienced poetry.”
— Edgar Allan Poe
Chipped nails and claw marks on my heart,
raw wounds cracking as the light turns to dark.
He whispered “I love you” softly into my ear,
I shuddered to think what he had in store for me here.
His touch dripped with venom onto my skin.
I was forced to stand there and watch the end begin.
As the distance (between us) grew,
long gone were the “I adore you”‘s
just
that girl, who is she?
YOU MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAM
The heavens, they cry out,
the love of their distressed creations now cast in doubt.
With my head on his chest,
we sobbed – “We tried our very best.”
Life and Death have been in love
for longer than we have words to describe.
Life sends countless gifts to Death
and Death keeps them forever.
Writers are the exorcists of their own demons
“He was like a song I’d heard once in fragments but had been singing in my mind ever since.”
Memoirs of a Geisha
You’re an ocean
and I am desperate to drown.