"I coin a phrase, For me to change, And pay for my sinz…" – m3l0dic
Every poem is a bandaid placed on a wound until it heals.Blood drips,And drips,On a page onto the next until the stains disappear in what I call a field,Of dreams,Our souls manifest against all odds.To be a poet means,To put an end to your facade,And,Face everything that makes you cry.Until you smile internally,Externally.Excavating every ounce... Continue Reading →
A band-aid can only hold on for so long.The wound may close up halfway after being worn after quite some time,But,Eventually,It'll be soaken entirely.Every corner discolored by a mistake too late to undo…Those who can't afford a replacement,What do they do?Bleed out until an infection occurs without any access to medicine?Surround themselves by doctors in... Continue Reading →
m3l0dicverse 