Home.

The blood on my hand is now graffiti on the floor; the tattoos are red, skin stained with gore. There’s butterfly on my lips, sore eyes staring at the wrists. Limping across the hall, I cover the wounds with tape; the music sounds morbid as I watch out the window, clinging onto the wall. There…

cat on a wall.

There’s a stone wall so high, going up there felt like being in the sky. There’s a cat on that wall staring at the clouds; feeling the wind wrapping around his body, growing more intense with each fleeting second. He doesn’t want to go back to where he came from, there’s nothing left there. The…

Will you?

Would you write to me, love When we're far apart? Would your love still be love Even in times of war? Would you walk with me, Smiling, from scar to scar? Does your pen still bleed? What does your paper need? To tell my story, to show us fall Remember those times, Wall to wall?…