alive
Niuni Yashodhara
April 24, 2026
i’m a haunted house where the echoes of past laughs ring faintly through corridors… paint peeling, flowers on walls, withering
i’m a haunted house where the echoes of past laughs ring faintly through corridors… paint peeling, flowers on walls, withering
liminal haze of waking up,to a white walled,cob-webbed coffin,erasing life off too quickly,yesterday forgotten like,history repeating dumb,then get cramped,in a
NYPP is a radiant new voice in literature, a young writer whose words unfurl like petals kissed by the dawn. With boundless creativity, they weave stories that shimmer between reality and reverie, leaving readers enchanted by the delicate beauty of their artistry.
i’m a haunted house where the echoes of past laughs ring faintly through corridors… paint
liminal haze of waking up,to a white walled,cob-webbed coffin,erasing life off too quickly,yesterday forgotten like,history
blinding sun and choking air,smoking nights in a longing lair,holed up naked or walking down
rub the soap till it’s petal thin, water in shampoo to keep it swell, same
part of this dark i am,she weeps beside meno sound no water,a disoriented beat,with only
sometimes, every word i have ever written seem pointless, devoid of any meaning… that those
the night is dry, sky dripping stars, gravel crunches beneath my feet, i hear a
you feel to me,like dirt under my nails,but my viper heads rise,at the sound of