I walk through a garden full of thorn and sufferings, pains, bitterness, hatred, trying to find a rose for my mother. I sometimes wonder
By Thanh Dinh4 years ago in Poets
Let's talk about the broken heroes - the ones fall at the battles, the ones full of scars, the ones who, on a rainy day,
Yes, my darling, I am the one asking for the favor to see your face again, to hear your voice through the digital screen, and not the you I construed up through broken memories
Please stay, I say as I look out of the window. The shadow of death is glooming over the both of us, and many other like us.
Dearest M. I was out in the evening with my mother and I thought of you. The thought of you being here with me has never been gone. And with time as its strongest armor, that thought has put me through the sweetest torture I can ever imagine.
I had a fever dream where I saw you for the first time - not the you who screams at me shouts at me scratches my face just because I had added a little bit too much salt
Darling, the pills are eating at you - the you in my forgetful, loophole memory, the you that night when you said I was your only one