"I have read your poems... I know you"

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"Oh, you are having difficulty sleeping,
Let me read your favourite poem for you"

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You know you are artist when you can warm hearts with cold hands and heal others with the blood of your wounds.

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How much did it hurt?
Meanwhile:

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The torture of feeling something you can't name.

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"posts nothing on 7th day"

Orange colour around my streak be like:

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Can't sleep, let's talk

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Them: Where do you feel home?
Me: I just watch Little Women and cry silently
~captioned

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It is the voice of chaos you try to name among a swarm of birds, too many voices inside your head and none of them is actually you.
~captioned~

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