Dear You,       I wanted to write you to let you know that I love you. You scoff, because you don't think I could possibly love you when I don't even know you- as if love has anything to do with knowing.

The Tower, The Sun Tear it down or it will be torn down for you. Besides, you are not who you need to be. Destruction before creation, wait for destruction again. This cycle: mighty Upon rock, not sand.

It feels as though I am dying- to the extent that I would almost bet on it. Admittedly, this very specific part of my life is closing. I am walking into the unknown, and shutting the door behind me to

Tears How can I feel this way? How could you love me? Your heart is bleeding for her while your eyes are holding me. This is all just a dream, a bad scene that won't last. Why can't I learn not to do this?

This city is my mirror,       the cool air that blows in off the ocean: It is uncomfortable, the noise       the motorbikes the shouts on the street Jarring with my learnt aesthetic I withdraw into quiescence

There is a street that runs just at the bottom of the hill. I watch the cars go past, coming from seemingly nowhere and going the same way. The atmosphere is somehow yellow, although it is not stormy.

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)” ― Sylvia Plath For a long time, I refused to need anyone special or anyone to call my own, I had found comfort in

Cusp My soul screams out into this black abyss vast, empty space. Sound cannot travel here death before birth. I see light. Hope lies so far it couldn’t be reached should every beat be availed.