blackholes die here

a writer ought never to be frightened in using the same subject all over again because she should be sure in her soul that all of her metaphors are for the ones who can't even utter a word for her.

for the dreamers.
for the mad poets.
for the rebels.
for the one,
who seeks freedom.

you're going to die someday in someone's arms or maybe, die alone. all the things you wrote will only be a fabricated nostalgia for you. people would care for months... tell how you've been a good person to them. you're going to be lost someday. that will be the day where everyone no longer thinks of your demise, you no longer resemble peace but a mere memory they could barely remember, your words will be forgotten.

and, you'll die with them,
you're going to get buried with them.
until you're nothing
but a graveyard of nameless
poetry and novels.

it's pretty sad i know.

but you made something out of history.
you're going to die someday,
but your demise will be their refuge.

trust me.

we will be free.

enjoy reading, this is only a tiny collection of my proses/poems.

- a.