He looks like a glass doll put way up on a shelf
Something not to be touched...
What you see
Is what you get...
She runs through my dreams,
And haunts all my thoughts...
The Scream (1893) by Edvard Munch
He realized there...
Shivering heather
awaken to misty moors...
I saw the moon
the other day...
you thought it ended,
and that you fell...
Someone once asked, why do you write?
I replied, “because I need to let it out...
A solitary raindrop
rolls down your left cheek...
If you’re the
dark...
I couldn’t keep my grip
I slipped...
I was given a second chance
to think which I didn’t need...