She was covered in flowers, blooms of every scent and hue. Yet, she was so alone— the kind of loneliness that could kill. Imagine tombstones, not of the forgotten, but of the murdered, adorned with flowers of all sorts. People had spoiled her with flowers.
Mate, I am not writing or creating or arting any shit. Mate, I am screaming, like some have screamed while smiling, and others have screamed in circles of friends who never heard them.
Death will find me dead.
Fear is long gone.
The heart goes cold. The heart grows old. The repetition of moments be it trembling or joyous. The heart loses it all in the end.
Be sincere, man. Where is it unreachable? Where?
If you love that destination, no place is unreachable. Because love— love is the fuel that takes us to distant lands we dream of, but have no map for.
Love, only love, man. Nothing else. Nothing much.
The mothers
only pray
to get
Lawyers
Doctors
Presidents
and
Engineers
then
the world
stares on,
finding it hard
to give us all our daily havocs,
for the rest
of our lives.
Some are whores
and
gigolos
so you
marry them at
your own
risk
that when you
find them
extramarital
you know that
this was it,
the destiny thing.
Myself is crippling me, myself is a critic that always it has to find a negative thing to say about me. Myself is fear and the purpose of me has always been to overcome it.
art by @kmcvisuals
I once heard stories that God saves the cursed, but in this case, I’m sure I am the cursed. And all I need now is His hand to lift this curse of life, this darkness, this weight that I carry alone.
"Who do you know, boy?" "Me—a hell of a lot of myself." "Isn't that enough?"
Now move, mate !, what has happened has happened to a twillion of them then and it will happen to a zillion of them in time to come.