I agree with Hemingway that writing isn’t hard

You do just bleed out your feelings

Only problem is, the bleeding never ceases

Coping with your darkest secrets

We writers feel the most

Writing poetry just to pick up the pieces

Never Complete

Alone I am

Forever I shall be

An old soul like me

Will never be complete


I thought about ending for a long time

Until one night I dreamt of my fate

And in it, — I in the coffin

My lovely mother beside it; Completely torn

I knew now why ending simply didn’t make the pain stop

It made it endure and transform

Into something much much more



Hypomania we meet again, such a dear old friend

Without you, my best work wouldn’t exist

Ah, but you always leave in the end

You’re part of the disorder I always miss

Prose: Memories

I spend my days with coffee, literature and writing about memories of you and me.


Haven’t you heard women like me cause pure destruction?

Yet, here you are still intrigued and not even trying to leave

You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into — Not a clue

I’m the rain

I’m the lightning

Darling, I’m the storm

Prose: Advice from an Old Soul

Don’t let fear stop you from falling in love.  Young man, the most beautiful things in life are felt within the heart.

Too Late

I lost you; I stopped drinking.

To Be Continued

When you left my book of life

The chapter ended but the story continued

I do not read the same chapter twice

Next Chapter: Moving On


You were there one day

Then you were gone

No goodbye

Just like in a sad song