A fleeting second on someone's news feed,No dearth of meanings for those who read,Not my stories but 'tis what I think,I say I don't write poems, I just write dreams.

To write is to reveal oneself.When I write something, fiction or non-fiction, I do not expect you to accept what I write, nor to agree with what I propose.I expect you to spend at least a tenth of a second to think about it - may be not about the characters, nor about the piece, but at least about the idea.

What broke your heart so badThat you had to close every door, That you say you have a dark soulAnd can't utter the word 'love' anymore?

For grief has always been so dear to you that you would make me writhing in pain in the brothel of your imaginations than to be playing with a bunch of balloons in the yard where I should have been.""And may be that's why, you'd rather talk to me about this, than to write a story about me where I could live happily.

Because there are a million thoughts that never sleepand a million more that wake up as each second passes by...And it's insanity insidebut I can no longer keep quietOh, I can't speak as wellI need to writeI have to write...