I house your disappointments
Here, behind cold bars of aching bone...
The Scream (1893) by Edvard Munch
He realized there...
Guys,
I don’t know about you...
You complete me so
because I am nothing and...
My day starts at 5 am, an hour before your alarm...
stirring you from whatever soft dreamland you...
Corroding in sinews,
blooming in soul...
Life is a line, curve, something of a design
in a crystal ball...
I become a profligate writer in all matters of...
I'm compelled to start a religion, write all the...
Things tend to end to deny their endlessness.
Endlessness is where they learn to end...
The observer and the observee are the same
but we cannot observe that at once...
What is love if not pain?
The stars taste just like knives...
Your sad eyes
fixate on your soul...