'A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: 'Sing for us soon again; ' that is as much as to say, 'May new sufferings torment your soul.'' ~Soren Kierkegaard
Blank. that is how I feel.
I have no emotions to fulfill.
Nothing left.
...
You loved me as your daughter,
And I loved you just as well.
The countless hugs,
The immeasurable love.
...
I will not hate
if you wanna be late
it is not an easy estate
to sell, I don't know the going rate
...
Free from the night air
I look on high and say a prayer.
It is time to begin yet another affair.
I am awake and fully aware
...
Stop. Stop now.
Stop worrying about failures,
Distance, and scents that give no
Direction.
...