“Spare themselves of this,” she says,
while refusing to spare herself at all
unaware that her escape
will become someone else’s worst moment.
Death isn’t final.
Not really.
It ends for you,
but for those who stay, it begins.
For the ones who watch,
who scream into stillness,
who cling to a body cooling beneath their hands,
believing hope might be loud enough
to pull you back.
It lingers.
It always lingers.
I wanted more than life ever offered me
more than survival,
more than breathing without meaning.
And you?
You only wanted tomorrow.
~ Time of death: 5:40 a.m. ~
Jan 9
Jan 9, 2026 at 10:48 PM UTC
I am drowning and all I can think about is how peaceful is it here,
A mind so full in a place so dedicated to vast space.
The chaos of waves filled with emotions no longer reach me,
Peace in the overwhelming sence of falling into the void.
Nothing and everything,
All at once.
At the end of everything.
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 12:12 PM UTC
“So, Doctor… what’s on the table today?” asked the patient.
“Oh, this?” the Doctor smiled.
“This is my magnum opus
the apple of my eye.”
“And what is it called?” asked the patient.
A silence. Then a slow reply.
“It is called Fear.”
The fear that keeps adults awake.
The fear that lingers.
The fear that festers
rotting quietly
in one’s very own soul.
The fear of whispers, scattered here and there;
of laughter that hides in the corners of rooms.
Invisible. Constant.
A voice so intimate,
yet impossibly distant.
A voice that begs to be heard.
The fear of soulless eyes that never rest
eyes that burrow deep into the skull,
all-seeing, all-knowing,
a glorious, abominable companion.
“You see, dear patient,” said the Doctor,
“The whispers and eyes are all for you.
And if I’m honest,
Your mind will buckle beneath their weight.
Crushed beneath the blur,
of what is and what isn’t
until all that remains
is a shell…
with no soul.”
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 2:39 PM UTC
I don’t want to be shaped
by the ideas other people hold of me,
to be desired only as a mirror
for their passions,
a reflection of what they wish to see.
I don’t want to be owned,
stamped with their copyright,
claimed as if I were never mine.
I want to be built
from the bricks I lay myself,
every line carved by my own hand,
with knife and chisel,
with sweat and will.
This body
My body
belonging to me,
body and soul,
whole and complete
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 7:43 PM UTC
I think I'm afraid to be a mother.
Because what I they leave,
Like she did.
What if I die,
Like she did.
What if I leave them broken,
Like she did.
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 6:55 PM UTC
Today was a bad day.
Today was the same as any other day.
Until a text,
Until a response,
Until new information.
The rug that was once carefully placed.
An object for me to hold,
To be centred by,
Ripped away.
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 1:39 PM UTC
Between drags of my cigarette,
I lie back on the concrete
and stare into the night sky.
The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?
Not because the air is clear,
or that the heavens are unusually bright
but because tonight I see their depth,
their quiet elegance,
the way they gather into a canvas
stitched across light-years.
The way they align feels like perfection
a harmony born of distance,
comfort found
in the vastness of the abyss.
I trace the Big Dipper,
Orion too.
Not for anyone else,
but for the stone that cradles my skull,
for the roots beneath the soil,
for the spiders weaving
in the leaves at my side.
I’m almost finished with the cigarette now.
But some part of me wants to stay out here,
just me and the stars
serendipity
in their quiet, endless beauty.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 8:20 AM UTC
To be honest with you, I think I’m falling,
Not falling in love or falling out of love,
But merely falling.
A sense of time and life sleeping away
Into the abyss of nothiness
Not the overwritten falling into a hole with no end,
Waiting for a rope to be thrown over,
Or an outstretched hand to hold onto,
But falling into the event horizon of a black hole.
The unavoidable truth that I could never escape,
Doomed to fall but frozen in time from the outside,
I know my feet are on the ground.
I know that my hands are writing on a keyboard.
But some part of me, however small,
Still believes that it’s not there,
That this is not real.
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 2:18 PM UTC
I won’t tell you where I work,
or what job I have.
But I’m twenty-one years old
and I’ve witnessed five people die.
And I know… I’ll most probably witness more.
I saw my first death at eighteen.
Two more at nineteen.
One at twenty.
And the last… at twenty-one.
I still remember their names.
Their faces.
The way they called me darling.
I still remember the food they loved
carrot soup,
toast buttered right to the very edges.
And the food they hated
Peas that had the consistency of thick porridge.
I remember their coffee orders.
Two sugars.
Heavy on the milk,
with a biscuit on the side for comfort.
And I remember how empty their room looked after.
Their belongings, folded and neatly placed.
Empty chairs,
where their family once kept vigil.
“Get well soon” cards
scattered like broken promises.
When they left,
They carried a piece of me with them.
And I gave it willingly.
Because it mattered.
Those small moments.
The ones I’ll carry.
The ones I’ll hold on to.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 6:12 PM UTC
I hate myself…
for not telling you what you did to me.
From that moment on,
I couldn’t see you as someone who cared
because you didn’t.
You were drunk.
Shouting at the world,
how it had wronged you,
how it had stolen a life
that was never yours to hold.
And you hurt me.
You held on until I bruised.
My arms, my legs painted in blue and red
You held on until every drop of love,
every trace of compassion I had for you,
was gone.
From that moment…
I saw you as someone else.
Someone I cannot meet in the eye
for fear that if I do,
I won’t be able to breathe.
Suffocated by that night.
The pain I left go unsaid,
The hurt I left go unheard,
The dignity you stole.
You took the friendship I gave you…
and crushed it in your talons,
the same claws you drove into me.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 5:01 PM UTC