She tasted like coffee -bitter and homey. Sometimes I would catch the smell of cigarettes from her coat, know all too well this meant things where wrong.

On how you can be a hopeless romantic and a cold-hard bitch at the same time.

The moment you live you begin to die, but there are some, like her, who want to accelerate the process.

Midday thoughts on the 3am life, that although deadly for you life span, makes everything feel more alive.

A short intent of an explanation for my own vices, those that make you decay yourself and those around you. Smoking not only hurts you, but those you surround and the enviroment you live in. Excess in...

For the minds that cannot sleep but know that tomorrow will be hell as a consequence.

A ramble on how sympathy may be the death of us. Or anything you want it to be.