Creativity and insanity go hand in hand,
an artist memorizing the number of wrinkles...

What am I but a skeleton
who homes an anxious knock...

My breath escapes me once again,
watching his silhouette blaze as he...

Harboring denial in every crevice
of her skin, similar to weeds seeping...

Our agendas were written by two different hands,
in two different languages...

I live here, a world away.
Bizarre birds and beasts...

In ways,
I imagined love to be a furious ocean...

His touch electrocutes the air
circling me, his hands are vultures...

Two weeks ago
I started a poem...

I once wrote that
you were the joy in my writes...