Depth without complexity, confidence without grandiosity, humor without nihilism, yearning without apprehension. Naturally lit, unfiltered, organic, palatable perfection - no less, no more.
I don’t need something to live for, I need something to die for.
The poetry exists in ignorance of my musings.
It clings to the crevices of life
in the nooks of idle minds and stolen glances of would-be lovers.
It does not care if I write,
though, I know that I must.