Sunday, 29 January 2017
He writes, with his pen, ravaging through the skin of paper, lays his pen down.
He writes with balls of adhesive tears, vicious of the pain dissolved in them, rolling down, washing away.
With his pen and a heart battling with fear, he trembles to strokes of ink, banishing purity, lying his way.
Ravaging through the skin of paper, tattooing it with bitterness, hate and stains of sweat, words cut and slay.
He lays his pen down, on the bleeding bruised paper, pushes back the chair, stands up and walks away.
This, he had to relay.
Gone are the days that you'd rest your head on my chest and smell the scent of my ripe goosebumps, those days that I would lose count o...
I will take you to the Atlantic coast in, Virginia, Will you be my 'Puella' my sweet, sweet Latina? Ride on the sand in a cherry...
If i were to choose, my life or your love, irrefutably, your love, if love fades, life blues! Webbed in my poetry, love and ink- run v...
He knocked on the door, but unlike usual, there was no response. No eager answer served on hugs and kisses that night like it has always be...