Reading Time: 2 minutes You visited me again last night And I woke up again in fright. I didn’t know what else to do. Should I have screamed? Should I have welcomed you? You bring me gifts of smoke. You’re in my head. A rain of words, A wind of plots, A storm of thoughts. You’re all the stories that I couldn’t write, All the wounds that didn’t cease to bite, All the shadows that never leave without a fight. You bring me gifts of light. You’re in …
Reading Time: < 1 minute And no more left dreams were right With no more hopes nor aims in sight. I chopped my dreams, I chopped them small Until they were all bleeding, all, all. With no more dreams to spare, How could I learn to live, to love, to dare? I buried the ashes of my dreams. Some were rotten. Some were seeds.
Reading Time: < 1 minute I have it in me This idea that wants to break free. The snow Of the A4 Says: “Come, I’ll be your home.” Black, tiny letters start running wild like a poem. Words battling shadows, seeking the light. Unfolding their tales in the quiet of night. Until the web Of the ink Says: “Stop, here comes the dot.”
Reading Time: < 1 minute And maybe a word is more than a thing. It seems to laugh, it seems to cry. It is all wonders and is all a lie. And maybe we are beings drawn in words. Choking on their meanings blurred. A drop of poison in the sweetest honey. Yeast fermenting in hope and money. Knife that slays or weakly sighs. Bridges forming, crossing eyes. And in the end, what is a word? Playdough.