“The berries of her love bleed, wilt and get scorched with the harshness of pain that is masked by smile.”

She is a woman, bold and courageous and a goddess.

She is a woman with courage flowing in her veins that shield the loved ones with all her might.

She wraps her cleansed mirrored soul around the filthy dirty lungs to free them towards sanity.

She is the fertile earth that blooms rubies with her blood and honor.

She breathes with ease only when she knows that her core is special just like her existence.

She wished he was her essence but he wasn’t even worth to breathe the air she lived in.

She is a voice that can never be silenced, even if her echoes are transformed from blood and ink to rare gems.

She is the guardian of innocent souls.

She was fearless, she loved her darkness and basked in her light.

She wished she never knew him, but how would she learn the lesson if it wasn’t because of his filth.

It took her ages to understand that without respect there is no value or love.

How you make use of silence and uniqueness is the key to your rareness.

I deleted my words that had your darkness, instead my words with colors of power.

She never let the bruises of past become an obstacle in her growth and blooming.

She walked the path of dignity as she raised her standards.

I wish that he didn’t insult my loving the ones who wasn’t made from his ribs.

My soul bleeds poetry, dipped in blue scented lies.

Mold me into poetry. Make me flow beautifully and deep. Write me into rhythmic verses with silent words that make me weep. Paint me with emotions like a bleeding sunset on a shore.

Every heart hides, wounds that never bleed.

Life is a velvet crowbar hitting you over the head, youre bleeding syrup amour, bleeding to death.

If you don’t heal the wounds of your childhood, you bleed into the future.

I wanna cut you outta my dreams, Till i am bleeding out.

A man strikes you, make him bleed. He makes you bleed, you break his bones. He breaks your bones, kill him. Being hit is inevitable, strike back twice as hard.

Sometimes ideas just come to me. Other times I have to sweat and almost bleed to make ideas come. It’s a mysterious process, but I hope I never find out exactly how it works.