Here I am to say that the love did not end, the way I thought it would. She was not meant to leave, before me. Not meant to die, before me, and yet, she did. My hands are raised towards Heaven, with an eagerness to…
Vision. That is what differs the objective from the subjective. Vision is the glance of the human heart, and all of its worries, its pain, and its injury done upon it by either negligence or manipulation. To be subjective would be to form an opinion,…
Love is that emotion, teeming as the unseen emotion, before it receives belief. Such a modern world has introduced practicality as a method to cure disease, and the world would be correct to say that love cannot cure a disease; for that is because love…
Q: How does this proposition properly state that from “both sides” as you reveal such terminology, there are “shots” being fired, and yet, they are different? A: There are differences utilized from the camera to the gun. The camera takes “shots” of the murder. And…
Winter is my wisdom,My horror and my way.Little kisses are there to land, themselvesUpon your long and gifted neck,That I admire to its porcelain texture.I am enamored by you, and all the despair you throw out,To your naked feet.Beautiful creature of all my savage wisdom,I…
Q: How would you explain how a human, upon finding there is no utilitarian attribute for the emotion of love, will have no choice but to look at themselves, by facing their eyes towards their feet? A: When a person looks below themselves to see…
Sometimes, when the scar has seemed to heal,I reject its process to heal,By a singular motion of my right and dominant handTo tear it open,And release the tides upon my feet.I breathe the scent of iron,Soon as emotion is revealed, once again. I wanted to…
“Some state that such places, as Heaven or Hell, hold no existence, because there is lacking evidence for such places. Do we as humans, upon Earth, within that category named to be ‘Earth’, understand anything above or below us, when we are walking forward? The…
“Coming death has its way of marking upon life, the reflection of it, as though the dying one stares always into a puddle. As though the remaining minutes are draining blood from the veins to make that puddle at the person’s feet, there is reflection…
“Expression is a blankness, should it only reflect itself as flesh, as the clay buried beneath the Earth. Expression is that blankness, without the time when each thing rises to meet the stars, nor should it be buried further, out of reach to be risen.…
