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My writings and poems
I don't think i'm a good writer. I don't even think I'm good at anything, and if you want to waste your time reading these so called 'poems' go right ahead. I'm just sorry they're not as great as I would like them to be.
My attempt at writing noir-like s**t. You might get a laugh.
Every once in a while you meet the kind of woman that drops you to your knees as you hit your head on the wall you weren't paying attention too all because a beautiful babe passes by. a wink and a smile. so simple, yet, so inviting. She smelled of what my dwindling imagination could suffice as the scent of Aphrodite. Long flowing red hair, like that of a boldly painted red rose on a smooth canvas. Her eyes were that of the a clear stream whose waters were as cold as the stare from the envious girls that flinched as they pass each other on a busy day in a busy road. I must have looked like a fool. Hell, I am a fool. But for her, I would be Her Fool...

The next morning i woke up with a bullet-shaped headache and a throbbing feeling where the sun stays away from. "Just another dream", I said out loud, stupidly hoping that someone from my imagination would hear. Hell, maybe I would get lucky, maybe someone would shout back that drinking your sorrows away is never the right answer. But knowing my luck, i folded fast without even taking a look at my cards. I didn't need them. I don't need anything. Wanting something is so different from needing something. I'm always in the market for wanting something, but needing? That wasn't me, nor did i ever allow myself to be. In this world you can't afford to be weak, you can only buy off time before everyone knows what kind of a sensitive a*****e you are, the kind that drives people away and keep the ones that drag you down to the darkest depths of hell. Maybe I belong there. Maybe I'm right at home





 
 
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