I am so glad that you are here.
It started with a question no man ever wants to hear. “Babe, how come you’ve never told me anything about your ex-girlfriends?”
By Zakir Ullah4 months ago in Horror
I carry history in my skin, a story I never chose. It burns in every stare, every siren, every shadow that follows me home.
By Zakir Ullah4 months ago in Poets
Leaves fall, unnoticed my heart waits in empty streets, love passes me by.
The world does not speak softly. It hits, it burns, it humbles, but always it teaches. It shows me that love is not always gentle,
Love is a way of being in the world. It is how you look at another soul and see yourself reflected— not as mirror, but as light.
They dressed me in red, called it love, called it tradition, but it felt like a shroud wrapped around my breathing. Smiles circled me,
Something is killing me, but it wears no face, speaks no name. It crawls quietly, through the cracks in my ribs, settling deep
I once walked with open skies above me, every breath a promise, every step my own. But now the air feels borrowed, the walls too close,
Why me? Out of all the souls wandering this earth, why was I the one chosen to carry this weight? Why must my heart be a battlefield,
You wore love like a mask, and I— I was foolish enough to believe it was your face. Every promise you whispered was honey laced with venom,
When the first light of dawn touches your skin, remember me— not as loss, but as breath still rising in your chest, as warmth stitched into your veins.
I hate you— but my hate is not simple. It burns like a candle that refuses to die, wax melting into my hands, searing me more than you.
