The stream at the edge.

Try screaming on a busy road, where impatience laces hearts, tying knots, taut and firm. Try breaking down in the middle of the road, and watch your tears become traces of selfish sweat, uncared for and forsaken. Drag your weary feet back to that stream, at the edge of all inhabitance, far away from everything …

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The night burns.

The night burns, The laughter burns, The nonsense ridden words also burn, Within empty eyes, And broken smiles. They burn down to ashes, Gentle and unfamiliar against the timid philosophies of minds unaware, of souls that lurk within depthful sorrows, of hearts that suffocate within caged confines, of the battles lost to an injustice of …

Morbid.

​I'm sitting again in this broken ride, Travelling distances vast and slow, Adjoining pieces from a soulful scatter, Setting places up,  Bringing fields to vision, When there are ruthless knives That strike inside. When there are scars still fresh, Wounds that still bleed. When there are questions too deep, Resting in voids And reasons too …

Beyond infinity.

I have always known you by your absence. But isn't that what infinity portrays: a profound absence? It is completely limitless and boundless  but that doesn't stop it from being present. Similarly, you might be far away, I might not see you with every dawn that drives the darkness away but that certainly does not …