A graveyard,
on a summer night;
A headstone,
in the moonlight; Sits.
Broken,
decrepit,
mouldy,
and withered;
With a forgotten,
old,
rotting,
corpse, inside.
Buried,
decaying,
lonely,
and lost;
The ghost
of a child,
watches
yonder self;
His past,
his present,
and future,
at rest;
He isn’t.
By: Viraj Belgaonkar
Blurry thoughts in a starry night...
& Metaphors
Fashion at your doorstep
Vantage point from a malleable heart and a vulnerable soul
rantings , pantings, and Chantings. A getaway trip within!
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Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.
Woman with gender-neutral name reporting live from the bro zone
