A Brush with Death

Can you see that closet, just behind that door? That is my world now, with all the ghosts. It is dark and gloomy with all the lost hope, With black curtains, to drape me in their dope.   I sit there in denial, on the existence of that evening Echoes of me drowning and whining.… Continue reading A Brush with Death

The veil.

I cry to my mother like a three-year-old. I yell at my parents as if they are a part of my peer group. I am hurt over small and petty issues. I am short-tempered. There is a lot of anguish inside me. There is a lot of self-praise, there is a lot of anger. There… Continue reading The veil.