my words are not a poem,
my soul is not a dream,
but if i had a heart,
i’d use it just to start.
start
Răspunde
Arhive etichete: literatura
De eram…
De eram epigramist,
Toata ziua stăteam trist,
Căci știind doar proștii,
Nervii mei erau și-ai voștri.
Dar asa, eu sunt poetă,
Blajină și circumspectă,
Mă inspir din flori și stele,
Nu din gandurile mele.
Partajează asta:
Stars Are Killers
The stars are killers. Whenever they fade out and die, their light dies too and we are left in darkness, only to be consumed by nothingness.
Partajează asta:
Capricorn
All of the writers and singers and geniuses that were blessed enough to be born under the starsign of Capricorn were alcoholics with awful family lives and terrible human skills.
And since I am also a blessed Capricorn, who thinks she can write, sing, draw and paint, and I am so scared of a normal family, I think that I should start drinking, so that my dog can save me from myself when I get too caught up in these shenanigans.
Partajează asta:
Good Enough
My story, as I know it, might end today; my thoughts are always lost, always dirty, always mean. My life was never good enough, I was never good enough.
Partajează asta:
Silence
It does hit my walls, I thought in complete silence. This silence thing is a recurrent theme around here, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Not that I want that. Nooo, silence is a dish best served cold, in the tight air of wispers that runs right out of you. When the world ends, when everything else fails, there’s nothing left but silence.
Inspiration: Five Sentence Fiction.
Partajează asta:
Angels’ Hotel
Tear by tear,
No time, no fear,
Or sound, or love
Is heard above.
Drop by drop,
I cannot stop.
Inside myself
There is no shelf.
Step by step
No light, no help,
Or truth, or hell
In angels’ hotel.