Sometimes my ink would parched each time I run out of words in my head.

Gradually, it oozes again after ascertaining that I, myself is bleeding and needs bits, fragments or pieces of solicitude.

It incorporates me as a being, it embodies that I am a being.

A poet, a writer and mayhaps, a warrior.



 A lost dreamer but has a compass.
  • IscrittoSeptember 13, 2017