your pretty little hands on my soul

dip your hands and touch the skies

pulsing your fingers into the stars

i was hiding through the mania

behind my forced smiles and empty hellos

remind me of what i was

who i was – no more

no longer the girl from yesterday- a memory of a thought

that lives beyond the boundaries of time and space

i have lived an eternity-

escaping the vision of the hand in the morgue

the disaster of my crisis – the death of she

the evolution of my essence- the bearing of all the lives

i have lived

paving the paths to the gardens of my soul

in spring i come home



Why do we insist on living like this? When will we allow ourselves to come alive? We distract our minds with everyday things that fill a void.

A void so deep. We do not take the time to understand, or to even acknowledge that there is such a thing.

How then, I ask, are we to become alive?

We spend so much time lost in the labyrinth, trying to devise a plan to escape.


Imagining how amazing it will be to be free. Imagining what our future holds for us once we manage to escape. This fuels us to continue on fighting and continue to put a void on the present.


By all means, comment below. Your critiques are welcome, although your compliments are nice they won’t make me a better writer.