creative writer
A Day of Hope Landlord knocks on the door. "Packing," mom talks, as though A place to stay awaits, Her face negating hate—
By kd Hoccane3 years ago in Poets
On My Deathbed. Flaky lips, chapped hands, pale face and closed teary eyes, Here I am on my deathbed, envisaging you for the one last time.
Just A Caress of My breath stuck
I was unhandy I want to normalise my electrocuted heart, And all those neon imprinted tattoos you left behind
I'm no Genius I'm no genius that spent his time for innovations But no dumb, neither.
An Eternal Slumber in Mother's Lap What to write about nature, Nature has always been here to nurture. To nurture is to unleash our true nature,
why Contrast between you and me I'm asthonised, One could be the extreme villain, Yet loved by all, One could be the selfish offender,
RARE 'P' , You're my best buddy, I create you with my own figment in my mind, You're the most beautiful hall that have horror stage,
Sincerely, the Yes, I see you down there looking up into my vastness. What are you hoping to find on my vacant face,
The Blues Much of what is said here must be said twice, a reminder that no one takes an immediate interest in the pain of others.
To the Ladies Wife and servant are the same, But only differ in the name: For when that fatal knot is ty’d, Which nothing, nothing can divide:
Relationship Ending As in some demented romantic comedy, my wife and I divided the apartment in half. She took the living room and I took the bedroom.
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