Dimitra Biskini

“I still smell your absence on my skin. It smells of insomnia and rusted key locks...”
― Malak El Halabi

“The rain is, in a sense,
The sole sad friend of those who find themselves
Thinking, wide awake, until the dawn,
Who, in bed, alone, with fevered hands,
Listen to it, soothed. They like the company
Of its faint moan across the sleeping plain,
Its rustling in the garden all night long.

- On the Great Grey Road (Sur ce Grand Chemin Gris...)”
― Alain-Fournier, Poems

“I have lost my rhythm.
I can't sleep.
I can't eat.

I have been robbed of
my filth.”
― Charles Bukowski, Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit

“My word stink
of blood and gore
of sleepless nights
of invisible demons
of razors and knives
of slashed wrists

My words - they stink.”
― Akanksha Singh