And if love creeps, heart weeps, lock gets rust, you ought to burn the door and inhale ashes of desperation, to bring peace and, to let go the reality off. Dreams don't bring chaos, afterall. and love is kind of a dream, that never leaves you to bear fall, without rise.
Oh darling, you constructed a cemented building with clogged up ceilings And big hollow rooms But there is no a roof For i can display my wings on; neither a floor of love and musings To let my inner angels walk on. Isn't it dead to make a living in a homeless house; where survival is not even realised? Anyways, You see, There is always a fissure sneaking into the walls to let the light in for me to photosynthesize my peace and choices, within the art of my solitude and long texts in my drafts.