u-vv

[u-vv]

the good things never hit that hard

it’s a privilege, bestowed upon pain

to make us weep & bleed art.

-uv

[u-vv]

reading Dostoevsky’s letters, each phrase is poetry in itself.

[u-vv]

in a rut, again

no meaning can be found

in these vile valleys of vulnerability

-uv

[u-vv]

too tired for words today

[u-vv]

the more you understand it

the more illegible life becomes

perhaps, an empty mind

a careless stride

is the only way out of it alive

- uv

[u-vv]

they are like the winter sun-

the ones who are loved more

warm, solely to themselves

high & white in the grey skies

the rest of us, the unfortunate lovers

blearily looking up, necks stretched

seeking their caress, a single ray of light

that shall never come

-uv

[u-vv]

a stagnant dwelling, a gnawing agony

to await; for a return or maybe, a change

longing, an unending pilgrimage

-uv

[u-vv]

it is not the absence of thoughts, but abundance

that mutes their meaning

& strangle their coherence

like the endless knots in two threads

the wires that entangle themselves relentlessly

into a wispy web of words & mumbles

they only come alive in the tips of my fingers

find their home in the margins of a paper

or maybe, sway away in whispers to his ears

if not,

they die in soft silent sighs

alone & abundant

full to the brim, these

meaningless musings of my mind

-uv

[u-vv]

a day late, yet early enough

i owe myself another attempt

to try harder than my urge to give up

to spell faster than my thoughts sprint

to press “post” more often than shying away unto myself

so maybe a year, a decade

or even an eternity later

i shall be something than a mere nothing

-uv