Veins — Maybe they never sleep -

Like primitives ready for hunt

And a thirst for blood it kills

Kills us to make itself alive

It pours perhaps it’s selfishness to heart

And heart it sips through it all

Bulges and bulges unable to cry.

Perhaps we weren’t meant to be -

For all the heart does we tell it’s secret

To our brains

Like a cheating friend

A vile




I am a science student leaning more towards tech and philosophies of tech.Not highly intellectual, nor very proficient writer. I love stories, absurd ones.