Writing

…With ink of blood, I write my heart on crimson red paper…
…I sometimes wonder why no one can read my heart…

Poetry & writing to me are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.

26 thoughts on “Writing

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  1. ur writin ur heart with blood on crimson red paper…!!..soobut on serious note…sometimes crys go unheard may be cos we do lik this soo only i guess…very nice…,sad but very nicely said dear:)…

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