Give me A guitar With No strings, Mouth me

If your head Could think it Your hand Could surely Write it.

I am a father I am a mother I said I’m a friend! Your friend A neighbour

You should see the sketch of sorro… You should see the pain written in… You should try to dig what is hidd… Can you not see how her eyes are t… When her brows flinches up and dow…

Let me not seek before my faith is… When the buds are trimmed for love… Not for unusual traits or heart wr… And not for solidarity to beg or r… Some debt; which my heart will dec…

There is this thing It frightens me and Scary at the same time, They are tiny voices Very small but weirdly

Sometimes i feel like I have done it all But maybe its not me Its the silk that’s unwilling To cover my feet.

O, ye the bright sky summon thee Before the crimson light forsake n… With the numb cloud morosely still… So does the teardrop– warmish will… Lightening’ a little or with a pi…

There are many Means of writing Mostly In caves.

Love for thee are naught, For every tears and every Pain love claimed will rot, Love to thee will glance no noon, For my heart will gently gain numb…

if you don’t want to do anything but reading, read loud if you don’t want to read and maybe all you want is to eat, eat now,

I call you Art Beautiful, interesting Expressive, talented And yet so delicate.

When in battle We know men But not fully, We know men that Folds up their sleeve

I love us more when its peak And our Presence had been starved To see.