What I tend to write is usually not very alluring or artsy, or gaudy or glorious (I think); it is somewhat bleak and limp- always leaning towards the subject of "life, society" (whether i like it or not). |
Warm sea mist covers his icy countenance as his...
She spends hours, even days in the bathroom now
staring at the mirror- it stares back at her...
Desire had been an illness.
For it warped the minds so anchored in make-shift...
Timeless waters engulf our drowsy imagination
Where dreams are made and lost...
The sly little devil lets out the murderous...
The sound feeds slyly on bemused walls...
When the silver Sun shines on you
with you...
One
Red mist descends upon the eyes...
Desire had been an illness.
For it warped the minds so anchored in make-shift...