Art By IG: @Naehrstff

Words flow from the deepest gashes of our deepest injuries. If you treat the wound and let it scab over, The words won’t come anymore.

stay miserable because I like the way you bleed. (via housewiththereddoor)

And after, I couldn’t bear the ocean for thelongest time. Until today, when for the first time I wanted to touch the sand again. And after I got back home I realised that you would never be able to forget me; that like that sand you can never completely free yourself of me. You think you’ve washed me all away and then you find me in between your toes or in your ears, laughing and making you miss me. Reminding you of how good it felt to be covered in me and how nothing can even remotely compare.

Excerpt from a book I will never write #1376

I wanted to share this with you all.

Classical Music is something that makes me realize the power of a human mind. Just sounds and vibrations arranged in a certain rhythm can make us ooze with emotions.

It's beautiful to see how people can understand the meaning of a song, the feelings behind it even when there are no lyrics, no certain path to tread.

This prelude composed by Chopin is one of my favourites. It has a certain melancholic tint to it and , I feel, tragic undertones.

This piece makes me remember the losses along my way. I reminisce in the memory. I sometimes even get angry, when I feel the unfairness of the loss.

Listen to it when you have time to think and reflect. It may make you cry, it made me.

Meant To Be Bad

An Angel

Everyone has one

They watch upon us, they say

Aiding us through strangest of means

But when your angels turn to beasts

And haunt your dreams

Darkness spreads everywhere, no way out

You must become comfortable in this hell

For now fury is your peace

Your demons, they can’t be drowned

And you start to sink in the black water

They are your salvation

What is there in morality?

Submit

You are meant to be bad

You shall so enjoy, you feel

Revenge from fate

Although this path is forlorn and condemned

And a transient relief

Who is to say I won’t succeed?

Lifeline (a poem)

Lifeline

My dog doesn’t realize how his leash is a lifeline a grip on his reality keeping him from the cold regardless impact of cars or the enticing aroma of freedom that would lead him so far from home he might never make it back no matter how strong the pull of his hunger or the ache for his toys and bed or even the sound of his name being called out over and over through all the empty streets within my ever-broken heart.

A Pretense

“The normalcy of life burning a hole in my curious soul

Where it should have been nurtured, my creativity

Is rotting in the stillness of mundane

Is it educated out of me?

Steered away from interests because they say

“You would never get a job doing that!”

Or has my imagination drowned?

Imagination, a gift as potent as birth

Where it should have sailed into my adulthood

Has been stumped prematurely

Has life become a soothe stream, with occasional waves?

Where it should be a whirlpool of experiences

Claps of thunder breaking the monotony

Mute now defines it

Am I living? Is there liveliness?

Its presence I have never felt

But its absence is apparent

Have we all donned masks?

And dissolved in the masses

Lost our individuality

Is this all a pretense?”

This is one of my earlier works.

poetry is not just words nor rhythm or rhyme poetry is not just a moment in time it is not ink upon a crinkled page poetry isn’t merely a kiss…a stolen glance

poetry is in all things every breath storm

…moment

you

Good stuff.