Like Summer dust or Winter winds
Like Autumn fall, or Spring begins

You're like the stars sprawled in the night
The kind that lovers, bards and poets write

I've said enough, a word to few
May joy and love, the both find you

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Staring at the wall
Sounds in my head
Pictures down the hall
Scents fuming in my bed

You believed it all
Praying for the dead
Screaming in the call
Sleeping in the red

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Oh hunters, you who carry your tainted spears and blades.
Like wolves, you stalk prey across savannahs of cimmerian darkness.
The lords of the abyss stare back at you.
Their obsidian eyes scouring your godless souls.
Indeed, woeful is the one plagued by the night.

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I hear voices sometimes. They're not always loud. But when they do become noticeable, they constantly tug at my mind. They become louder until they drown my voice and all I'm surrounded by is noise. And that sucks.

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You see, I've written letters. Nothing romantic really, just words on paper and conversations I'd imagine us having like "Hey, how's your day" to "I've just had breakfast". Letters of that sort. Occasionally I'd try to write up something deep, but usually they'd just end up being short, boring notes.

These unsent letters, the reason I write them, is mostly to keep my head in check. But it also serves as a reminder, that everything is fleeting. Just when you think you have things figured out, it can all become a hazy mess.

Anyways, I doubt you'll ever read them. And I guess it doesn't matter. I'll just keep writing pages, of things that used to be and hope boring letters find you, even if it's not from me.

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Vindictiveness:~Having or feeling a strong or unreasonable desire for revenge.

This word holds true, whenever I look at you.
It gushes in, the fury and seething hate.
Brimmed to the bones and seeping to my soul of late.
But then the moment passes, is gone and dead.
Just like your presence and all those words you've said.

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A man sees a different version of himself in the eyes of the woman he loves

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Some people enter your life at the right time, some people leave at the right time.

These people have seen you, loved you and witnessed you, but were not necessarily right for you.

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People say you fall in love and then fall out of love. I think that's a wrong way of putting it. I'd say, we grow out of love, because you can only grow when you leave something behind.

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In this monochrome world, she was a mosaic of colors. Painting life around me in different shades of her brilliance. It's no wonder the heavens cried when she cried and smiled when she smiled.

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