You smell of death. Everything about you is an endless goodbye - Nikita Gill

Why be a half-finished poem in some forgotten poet’s story, when one can be an odyssey in and of herself, part magic, part villain, part Goddess, part lover.

A mess of beautiful contradictions make her whole, she wears fire for skin but a storm lives in her soul.

Empty out the darkness that has accumulated at the bottom of your heart, all the words you refuse to say. Your heart is not a well to poison; remember that. When the secrets become too heavy to carry, whisper them to the wind to be whisked away.