Dead

I identify as dead

Red Wine And Regrets

Thanksgiving slightly drunken freestyle

Confessional

Fragments of him

Regrets and sorrow

Hope is a dead star

People always have the wrong expectations of people they never give a chance to know. And yet we carry that burden.

The end of times is upon us and I'm over the bullshit

Oh my fucking goddddd, another day, of my two favorite things

Where do I put the love?

A poem about love & loss & loving again. Love hurts...

And there upon my epitaph shall say, "died in the womb", for life never existed and the heart was a broken tomb. © Delia Ross. 2019