I turn to the dry and lifeless pages of a book; they love me like the ashes of the dead. The ghosts remain in the silence, mocking me, speaking words I can no longer hear. Friends are lost, nevertheless loved, in the weakest corners of my cold and crumbling consciousness. Those friends are silhouettes; in the shadows they can be seldom seen- they never looked at me.
YOU ARE READING
An introduction to my mind
PoëzieI just feel like writing something right now A weird collection of thoughts and ideas I have whenever I'm alone. My thoughts and ideas are surprisingly difficult to put into words, so I apologize if the writing is a bit weak.
