Zoya > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

I saw you bury pieces of your soul in the strange roads you took to your home there was a part of you in the flowers you chose to sniff and a..

As I lay under the starlit sky, tangled in a pair of arms that had started holding me too tight, I couldn't help but wonder how disproportionat..

getting your heart expectedly broken by an expected someone is not a tragedy the real tragedy is in knowing that a thief didn't steal your hea..

the last time you brushed past me in the cafe you smelled the way a rose smells a day before its death the wrinkles around your lips told me ..

Somedays I don't like the way this world talks valuable lines are left incomplete while empty words steal the exclamations your emotions ..

It had been two years and three days since the last time I wore your jacket as I struggled to pull up the zipper I realised it wasn't a ref..

We're all made of skin and bones, Of soil and maybe some clay. We're made of blood and oxygen, Or that's what people say. It is the basic skeletal..

words are everywhere every now and then I hear the most worthless of tongues hurl fancy phrases and words at their beloved meaning, you se..

I saw you hurry down the dusty path to my house the clouds that had kept me company all these days were now clearing away the sun was ou..

Poets, they say, have sad endings. Guns, ovens, rivers. Breathing, one moment. Falling silent, another. Poof. Gone. Poets, they say, never exist..