This morning I suddenly catch myself: I'm not there, I'm so lost in thought, I don't know what's going on around me. Can you think yourself to death?
There are things better left untouched by words.
Where your pain is, there your heart lies also.
Tell me what's the difference
I am that which lies beyond time. Like a melody, which sounds completely only after the last note is played.
I don’t write poetry when I wish, I write when I can’t, when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut.