They said love is a melodious song,
A rhythm felt by two lost souls.
But in a world so materialistic,
Maybe love, too, is an illusion—
Sometimes you're in, sometimes you're not.

They said love is a bird’s soft chirp,
A peaceful echo lingering near.
But when the bird fell silent,
It was just another mirage,
A fleeting sound meant to disappear.

They said it all so true,
But fairytales know it well—
That song is fading,
A tune I wish would never end.

Growing old
is nothing more than
the lengthening
of one's shadow
as it
stretches into
eternity and
is seen no more

Today I looked at my belly, and said

I hate you.

Tomorrow, just a little less.

A soul broken into pieces,
And given an ability to write in return.
As "compensation".
To make people relate,
Getting the tiniest bit of happiness
From their work
While dying slowly.