If ever, merely for the art of expressing, I am asked to narrate about love, I’d pause, think of all that ought not to and start leaving...

It’s a tough race, to make it to the top and look back at the chaos the so articulately crafted us. So much has been spent on thinking,...

Every cloud will have been begged upon, the orphans overly neglected and the seasons overturned, yet one sits and he wonders—the...

There is a chaos, one in which the only character who had to glow everyone up is breaking apart, like it were the last few flames out of...

To write love songs on her arms, holding it under the bright night, and reading the letters that so explicitly hold your feelings. Is...

I cannot recall, the last time I was happy or saw me flying amongst stars. For the art of suffocation has me walking on top of my dead...

This world—it pumps hate into our bloodstreams like never before. It was designed but never meant to—a guy who continually has to run...