Nah.

Creation is beautiful. To bring something to life, into existence is a pleasure that’s inexpressible. But what is creation without chaos? It’s a song without melody, a hymn without rhythm. It’s the metamorphosis that is mistaken to be creation, most of the time. There are questions that beg for an answer, which cannot exist for…

Ahh!

What do i write? Of the demons that hide under my skin? Of the spirits that haunt my dreams within? The ghouls that wander when I’m sleeping, singing lullabies, weeping. I’m not alive, I’m not dead but I’m right here, enough said.

Unrelated.

Life sometimes gets so hopeless that there’s nothing else one can do but laugh and Tears don’t taste good anymore. Emotions have abandoned me a long time ago, these are the days of apathy. Crises give meaning to existence. My soul encompasses the universe and scars are galaxies with stories hidden in plain sight. There…

Thoughts.

Time tells me this, This moment, This second, I can exist, I cannot.

Doubts.

In a world filled with stars In a galaxy full of worlds I wander As an insignificant speck of dust I look at the sun, in daylight Under the dark sky And moonlight, I wonder Why do we talk to stones? Believe in an existence, unknown? What is sin? What is just? What are morals?…