lifelost

Ah! Listen the song of storm from my disturbed soul;and it scatters flower buds into its lonely halls;like every pain needs a dirge, with wreaths that awful the world framed one for me, and gives the time it calls.

— Nithin Purple

The thick baffling blades of false world customs rip off my views and ideas, like breaking every string of my aesthetic thoughts in disdain and jealousy;pain enough your tagline roars before I die.

— Nithin Purple