A Painting That Lies

A painting that liesIn the corner of the atticNo one remembers byNot that she felt aesthetic A painting that liesConfined within all junkMuch needed guiseHer heart completely sunk A painting that liesAmong the dusty cobwebsNot from MarseillesPerhaps,That’s why, away she ebbs A painting that liesLong forgotten by loverWith hope in those eyesHer emotions hover A

Solace in Perpetual Sadness

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadnessLike resignation to the end, always the end– Gotye There is a certain kind of sadness that is addictive. Like a drug, you do not want to come out of it. You love feeling it, deep within your heart, in your blood, and perhaps even your

Side Effects of Love

Love. Isn’t that just a stupid four-letter word? I mean there are so many more four-letter combinations of alphabets that are worth thinking about. Isn’t this linguistic string the main source of misery and madness in our lives? Isn’t this expression, as beautiful as it sounds, the main cause of all the indecisiveness and chaos

An Open Letter After a Long Time

To You, With whom I intend to spend every second of every lifetime, I haven’t written for far too long as you already know, so forgive me if this comes as too amateurish or perhaps, childish but the intentions I would like to make clear. You already know how I feel about you or how

Killed the Little Girl

You always told me that things will be alright one day. You told me to be patient and persistent. You told me to not expect much but keep on hoping. You told me that I will get there one day, perhaps tomorrow, maybe a week or a month after, but it will happen. You told