I write about the world in an attempt to remove myself from it. Not in a way that would bid my nonexistence- but to be an observer to that existence or nonexistence. I write to observe my own absurdity.
I promise to have an ACTUAL poem out soon but I wanted to ask: would any of you be interested in me writing more short stories? I haven't published one since "Would It Be Honest?" and, while more difficult, are very pleasing to create. I know that it's ultimately up to me on what I publish and write, but I didn't want to just dump loads of text on you all out of the blue.
The hardest thing in the world is loving someone who can't love and who has never known of true love
I loved a girl who had a divergent mirror And when she looked through that mirror she saw things far from what they actually were
I was gonna slay dragons and stop the time for you But you rejected it Somehow when I proclaimed my undying love for you All you could hear is that I was gonna use your vulnerability I am sorry you did not love yourself enough to let yourself see the truth
For some people, some winters never end Others begin to fade away like sunlight when it fractures into a deep lake. How to explain love when every reason you stay alone is made of flesh and bones? Summer just pretends to be your lover for a while until it leaves and sets ablaze the shape of the skyline you used to love so much. One day you become increasingly aware that now you paint everything grey You start to forget faces and you stop playing dress up
Today it became crystal clear why no one has ever wanted me I drag so much bagage and am constantly followed by demons I gave birth to
In fact some would say It's a good common sense to stay as far away from me as possible Yes, maybe my fingers have the potential to do magic in the light or in the dark, doesn't matter if you are the right one But is that all you are looking for? Because, for once I'd rather be the full course than the cold leftover