poems

In the dim-lit corridors of my mind, I find myself sweeping crimson tales off the floor. Each stroke of the broom etches memories—some beautiful, some painful—into scarlet hues. The water, once clear and tranquil, now mirrors blood, reflecting the emotional wounds I carry.

My dreams weave through restless nights, like an unlicensed driver navigating a fractured road. Our journey, once harmonious, has become discordant. We're lost in a labyrinth of our own making, stumbling over memories and missed chances.

Where were you when raindrops fell, seeking solace? You remained in your sheltered haven, untouched by the tempest raging outside. My pain, like a relentless storm, battered against the walls of my heart while you cocooned yourself away.

I yearned to drive toward your presence, to that place where love once bloomed. But that room was already filled, brimming with memories of someone else. I stood there—an unwelcome guest—keys dangling from trembling fingers, promises unfulfilled.

The furniture in this house bears silent witness to love's abandonment. It wasn't my home, not truly. Instead, it became a house of echoes, haunted by memories of what could have been. And you, standing by the window, watched as I drove away into the night's abyss.

"Keys to Nowhere," I whispered, a title etched in blood. It's a door forever closed, a choice that led me to emptiness. Sometimes we buy keys that unlock nothing but heartache, lost within the rooms of our own longing.