I recall the biting wind the night you left; it held secrets and whispers of a raw past. I stood outside a diner, a beacon amidst a sprawling desolation. It’s here where you feel disdain for the comforting lies and easy graces of polite society.
That grocery line was an exercise in existential dread. Ahead, a lady with coupons for coupons. Behind, a man whose personal space is theoretical. And the screech of scanners like demented crickets. I’d have sold a kidney for an escape hatch.
She swayed to jazz in the Harlem club, soul pulsating. Outside, the city’s cacophony awaited; a medley of ambition and despair. On the subway, someone’s gum stuck to her shoe. The jazz was still in her heart, but the city sought to stifle it
He stood on the boat, sea churning beneath. The stench of the fish, the cold spray. This was life. Back home, the empty talk, the hollow laughs. He couldn’t stand it. Out here, he was alive. He hated that life ashore and would not go back.
the room bathed in golden twilight, a torrent of emotions rushed through clarissa. the ticking clock, a reminder of the disdain for her mother’s unyielding demands. a symphony of silverware, the clinks retelling stories of unspoken despair.
Dear humans, I write from Tralfamadore. Your passion for broccoli is baffling. We tried it. Never again. Here’s the secret: we Tralfamadorians believe that humans are broccoli to the universe. Crunchy, green, and confusing.
I loathe for the attention you gave others when is was begging for your love. Oh what I wouldn’t do for one more restless night with you my love
I recall the biting wind the night you left; it held secrets and whispers of a raw past. I stood outside a diner, a beacon amidst a sprawling desolation. It’s here where you feel disdain for the comforting lies and easy graces of polite society.
That grocery line was an exercise in existential dread. Ahead, a lady with coupons for coupons. Behind, a man whose personal space is theoretical. And the screech of scanners like demented crickets. I’d have sold a kidney for an escape hatch.
She swayed to jazz in the Harlem club, soul pulsating. Outside, the city’s cacophony awaited; a medley of ambition and despair. On the subway, someone’s gum stuck to her shoe. The jazz was still in her heart, but the city sought to stifle it
He stood on the boat, sea churning beneath. The stench of the fish, the cold spray. This was life. Back home, the empty talk, the hollow laughs. He couldn’t stand it. Out here, he was alive. He hated that life ashore and would not go back.
the room bathed in golden twilight, a torrent of emotions rushed through clarissa. the ticking clock, a reminder of the disdain for her mother’s unyielding demands. a symphony of silverware, the clinks retelling stories of unspoken despair.
Dear humans, I write from Tralfamadore. Your passion for broccoli is baffling. We tried it. Never again. Here’s the secret: we Tralfamadorians believe that humans are broccoli to the universe. Crunchy, green, and confusing.
It must be easy to
A trick that made you stay
Lasso around the chest
It must be easy to hate me
Sorry
I was drowning, lost in the deep end
Often felt like a use and a thrown thing.
I loathe the fact that there are plenty of great platforms and apps to explore and still so less time. Came here to explore more.