english

poems by Moldvai Barna

emptiness what a prologue seems like is a canvas painted on the knife who knows if it’s real or just a haze inside are two false faces in the triangle phase both veils fall once the trance is closed and the real story can rise to be composed.

Another irrelevant title

by Mario Șerban The limit of pain is just a greater pain and so on. Maximum pain is a myth. So, what’s the point of complaining? You will never share a nervous first kiss and both look away smiling and blushing afterwards. You will never be kissed on your cheek at random by your girlfriend […]

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