poetry · words

Our last picnic

We’ll pack some mayo sandwiches in a picnic basket with a layer of salami and pastrami. We’ll keep two bottles of white wine and two glasses.  Also, a bed sheet to spread on the floor and folding chairs.  Our favourite oils will be with us too, if we need a massage.  And taking this basket… Continue reading Our last picnic

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poetry · words

Eulogy to Myself 

// EULOGY TO MYSELF // Around me everyone presumes death to be a dark thing.  They automatically on hearing of death, picture a dark room filled with your fears or a room full of your loved ones and your selection in one of those rooms will be based on your earthly actions.  Load of crap,… Continue reading Eulogy to Myself 

poetry · words

It’s all numbers

One hundred and eighty six There were one hundred and eighty six movie stubs in that shoe box covered with white lace and a red flower on the top.  Twenty nine There were twenty nine tees and hoodies with a lingering smell of his cologne, Saraville Paradise for Men.  One thousand eight hundred and thirty… Continue reading It’s all numbers

poetry · words

The power of morning

It’s at that time when you think of stuff that the words come and knock at your door. In those early mornings, when the lazy in you has just gone out to feel the serene breeze over your cheeks, to hear the chirping of birds and to see the sun touch the horizon, you realise… Continue reading The power of morning

poetry · words

Alone time with Scars

Knowing that these scars will bleed and the scar marks won’t fade I cling to my nightmares.  It is my redemption.  These bleeding scars all over me and my broken mind and scattered heart all of this is a part of the big plan devised by a tattered person, me.  I hug these nightmares tightly… Continue reading Alone time with Scars

poetry · words

Death is not going to wait

One day, it’s coming for all of us.  You me all of us.  And don’t prepare.  Don’t waste your time preparing. But fear it too, don’t take it easy.  Fear the moment you will exist no more, because you may not feel anything after that, but the people you leave behind will surely do.  -anothergirlwithfantasies 

poetry · words

Fill me, my lord

Fill me, my lord.  With pleasure.  This body is degrading  tasting the love of amateurs, lips are going sour on kissing those. It needs your rough hands and your sly fingers that wander down the path they aren’t supposed to.  Write a poetry with your lips on my cunt.  Sing a song with your hands… Continue reading Fill me, my lord