poetry allows me to purge and process. its how I breathe.
black grows over veins,as if disease was spreading,something has died here,no amount of parfum or oud could mask the scent of burning fleshwings attempting to flood rooms to save what is left of her,but the withering smoke of cigarette in mouth still burns,nothing is left,debris cannot surmount to what stones have made this mountainburning embers […]