i still fly
with tired wings

Poems and photographs are so much alike.
When I realised that a poem was
a mere record of what I felt,
an emotion captured so well,
much like how a photograph captured the moment.

It’s one of those nights
where light fades
and life gets tiring.
Lonely enough
my demons
does not even tap my shoulders,
they don’t even critique my choices
they sit there silent with a placard saying;
“You love her. We love her. Don’t let this **** bring you down.”