I’m dying poetry

In his Letters to Milena, Kafka wrote,‘You are the knife I turn inside myself;that is love. That, my dear, is love.’ And I can’t help but wondernumber of times I ate my own skinto feel your touch on my lips.And number of times I died,trying to reason with unknown.In search of words I travelthrough myContinue reading “I’m dying poetry”

Roads

I looked at him while crying, I knew there was no use of trying. You left and moved towards the wood, And I stood there, like you said I should. Every path I take is black, I wonder if you ever going to come back? Whenever these roads try to threaten me, I wish uponContinue reading “Roads”