I'm suspended in time, In anticipation, Waiting for that one thing to happen, And I'm sure, It'll happen so fast, The time would go so quickly, Everything would feel so rushed, And this pause and calm, Is only preparing me for the carnival ahead.

I write I'm a cloud, I mean I hold on too much, I'm a floating paradox, I'm always flying away, Always trying to escape, I'm in between...

It's fading away quickly, I'm trying to remember every little detail possible before it's completely gone from the tracts of my...

Aren't prompts supposed to make poetry easier to write? Then why is it so difficult for me to pick one and make my brain think of some...

I wonder for how many times, These little things will prompt me, To think of you, Ever so randomly, And make my breath stop ever so...