Hands of Whispers Through the fingers the sorrow drop beneath The happiness in which blooms like a rose in a bed full of madness. The sane becomes insane.
Fifteen. (I wrote this when I was 15.) 15 years ago I was very small not more than a baby who could scream and wake my parents up at night. Now 15 years later I’m still not very tall and even if at n...
This is it. Walking down the walk of fame, noticing what’s to left and right. As inspiration flows into your veins, this is it.
It Takes a Fool to Remain Sane What will you do now when everything is over? When the skin on your arms is slowly peeling off. When the sorrow in your eyes becomes something beautiful and The grass o...
Vacuum Mountain cold as ice The darkness through you whisper Never hear a sound
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