Sophomore~!

  The third time we played Our broken record on the velvet table turner, We tapdanced on the pale moonlight And listened to our sultry voices melt beautiful memories into uncontrollable tears. You held your hands on mine As I plucked a flower from the woods And threw it to the skies Just to remind ourselves that Like the midnight stars, We were going to shine...

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The Vulture 1.0

This poet has always been thrown into fascination about Edgar Allan Poe's "The raven" His interest lied on the dark skulls of how each word burnt his skin and how every punctuation mark kissed his soul with joy. He believed that, that poem was perfection and a stream of hope to which inspiration sprung from. But; Be always not happy about what you take delight in reading...

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