Sorrowful screams, wails of tribulation, ubiquitous thoughts of past regrets. The streets of death carry the heavy weight of incomplete accounts: stories with no ending. Souls that will forever live in a coma-like state unaware that their world is still rotating while they live in a timeless reality in which their mundane existence has even less significance. Here everyone is dead. Here it doesn’t...

‼️ mentions to S/H‼️

The ink her oxygen the paper she breathes

She writes her thoughts while the tsuris screams.

All to replace the bewildering thoughts

Her mind is a lost compass.

A wrong direction

An inescapable cause

The mind runs miles though a desolate state.

Now the ink-stained paper cries its own tears.

Watching the pen break down once again, its inky tears replicating the pools of w...

Leaves of auburn, marigold and crimson dripped down the ancient oak trees. Drowning, the leaves receive the heavy burden of the rain crashing upon them, their tales end in the miserable embrace of death, as they are stripped of a life, like it never meant to begin. A swift death for a life that wasn’t supposed to exist. Watching in silent grief as the wind echos the unspoken promises of a life tha...