Loving is like
Hanging on a cliff
Once you fall,
There's no coming back

Most try to climb up
Some succed, some fail

But, they don't understand
That there's happiness
In letting go too

Let go and who knows?
Maybe you'll fall somewhere
You'd never want to
Climb up from

Do I write too much?
All of these words
Accumulating so fast
Just waiting to be let out
They're getting clasutrapjobic
What can I say?
I wish I would stop
I ask them if I may
They say no
Not in a harsh tone
But just one saying that they need to be let go
"Okay" I tell them
It feels good after all
But do I write too much?
The question still stands tall

Some people
Are choking back tears
Always

Today is the day
I have not been waiting for
A chance to begin.

i always have
the urge to run.

but what is it like
to be a tree?

to be confident enough
to root yourself
and grow with
wild abandonment,
being unapologetically
you?

i'm still running,
but i wish i knew.

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come