my hands carry no rosary my lips cantillate no holy name. he hears solely the music of my tears; which make du'a. for a bruised, broken heart. for my bruises be nicks and punctures whence malice and hatred ooze out.
he salves my throbbing wounds and illumines deep, Cimmerian nooks of my heart with his benevolent mercy. and brims it with incensed amrita of Love.
clichepennametears will come naturally out of you don’t force them out they are precious few that convey true emotions just like these beautiful lines you wrote for now they’re hiding inside your cerebral fort
i don't want to breathe i don't want to feel i don't want to cry i want nothingness to hide me in its bosom. i don't want to be seen. this pandemonium... will break me into smithereens she... distresses, bit by bit, every bit of my being. solace... heavenly solace, is yet to arrive. now my dear, pray tell me am i flying? am i drowning? nay! i am just jesting. and laughing frenzily! laugh, you too.