People are like words.
They may destroy.
Create.
Forgive.
And multiply.
Yet, words don't possess a body. Their very essence is trapped within the cursive form of letters.
As they cry out from inside their lonely prisons, we too seek help.
We always seek help.
Attention.
And most importantly, love.
We are far more dependent on others to survive in this fictitious reality.
We were once words.
Born. Die. Repeat.
We too follow such a cycle.
But unlike words, in time, we fade into oblivion; leaving no physical evidence and trace behind except for the soul of the meanings themselves.
YOU ARE READING
Abstract
PoetryWords may be the best medicine. But they can also do more harm than good. Here's a spontaneous collection of words, vignette's, short stories and poetry combined into a timeless and relevant output that not only comes from experience but also from t...
