When you judge your art with number of likes you get in response to it, you're killing the artist within, and giving rise to an entertainer.

The writings are built by imagination. Emotions fill the colours to them.

The bait we set, never truly entraps the love, but lust.

Stop there, Breathe.For a while you need to leave, live.Stop pushing your face into that photo calledpast, stuck in the photo frame of time. Stopscratching your heart, give the wound time toheal. For i know, when the photo frame fallsdown, the broken pieces of glass fall apart,just like memories. But no, you want to keepit to the chest, close to your heart. You knowyou shouldn't but you're too coward to let go.It keep sucking your heart, into a black holeof muddy memories. Making you a darkshattered soul, incapable of finding solace.So stop. For a while let's just live. Let's justbreathe. Let's just love ourselves, for it's youwho need it the most.

All I want to do is, help you rebuild yourself.Restructure your devastated heart. For Iknow, it's impossible to build the exact sameshrine once destroyed in a place but at leastyou can make a garden of bliss over awreckage

Is the murk which lives inside me,actually a dead star?