Everyone needs a house to live in, but a supportive family is what builds a home.

People are laughing at me today for having holes in my pockets, and ink blood on my fingers- a thirty-something old writer, who strangles words from dictionaries, and feeds on the decay of poetry.

A house is never small or empty, when filled with love.

As day is to a sword, night is to a shield.

All she wanted was a family, all he wanted was fame; as their relationship famished.

When we were together before, the world was small to us, but as you grew bigger to life and the world became desirous to living, we became smaller to each other.

There are a world of answers, outside the loop.

Every corner and room of a house will carry memories, make these the most pleasurable times you shared with your family.

Farther from the sun, a father and son. The soft moon chasing after, the sun running away; a lunacy of circles that separates the darkest of space. Stars hanging like a collage of reflecting mirrors, pieces that once radiated beauty. If by chance, the moon changes to blood and the sky spills its red, the willing time, will tell in time, if when all is too late.