The cold is its own cave.
The dream pops and crackles,
rapidly cooling after I leave it.
I close my eyes and it's dew in a cavern.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
look at my blood flowers, because I write with a serene sharp blade that soothes. as much as cuts into the deepest parts of my soul
Me
- Basit
- Son, Mallu, Expeditionist, Whimsical Blogger, Pseudo Poet, Haiku thirst, Literaly anti-literal, Foodie, Coffee & PinkFloyd addict. floating bewilderedly through space-time continuum !
Popular Posts
-
frosty morning / flock of starlings / twisting in the wind.
-
We live between the spaces of promises, in broken tea cups and shattered mornings. then new vows soak up spilled words until we fall again.
-
Even dead fallen leaves go a long way with the wind before getting crushed.
-
* To fall in love. * To laugh until it hurts your stomach. * To find mails by the thousands when you return from a vacation. * To go for a v...
-
my mind, poached its yolk spilling out into a void; past mirrored hallways, grey reflections of words are chained to my tongue
-
I'm tired of words, but somehow they bridge the distance between us.
-
Paintbrush in water fascinates me sometimes more than colors as it's the state where imagination actually decides the destiny of the can...
-
wrapping my whispers around your silence.
-
Twisted tears // run jaggedly // down my face // crooking their way // into my heart//
-
behind a shade drawn down, the moon guides my soul into every journey I am masked with surviving I am what love used to do when mirrors cried.
Blogroll
Labels
Pages
Powered by Blogger.
Followers
Latest Tweets
Theme by Site5.
Experts in Web Hosting.
Experts in Web Hosting.
0 comments:
Post a Comment