To my Muse,
I hope this letter finds you well...
I cant write, I cant even think..
Staring at my blank pages, forcing my eyes to...
You don't want to love me
I'm bent, broken, full of scars...
The house I live in,
is a dress that's loose...
Every time, ignoring the loveliest heart of father...
Poets and Saints have only praised the mother...
You left behind a cupboard full of advices
yet failed to warn that life is unpredictable...
Death has become a design of informal thoughts
notions of peace are dressed within tainted tears...
I was a black firefly
buzzing through the...
Pain can consume us, make us self loath
Always in pain feeling nowhere can be home...
I am sad, and its not
a you can hug me till I feel better sad...
They stand in rows,
yellow and stained...
It shouldn't be like this...
after all these years...