Preserved.
Such is our appellation.
Yet we are naught but human.
We live measured by the government,
our usefulness weighed and recalculated,
while years pass and maladies
still gnaw at our mortal coil.
They labored us for profit, not for wellness.
No hands reached to heal.
No walls were raised for care.
Only bodies fell—
many for daring to confront them,
many stemming from a deficiency in salubrity.
Illness has spread.
One so treacherous no shield resists it.
Scientists who risked their lives returned only to testify—
radioactive...
A sickness traced to the ash of nuclear fire,
to bombs dropped on Karkhiv
twenty four years ago, in 2054.
I fear this generation,
and our race,
will soon learn the genuine significance of the denouement.
And that, in the future we shall be remembered as extint.
2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 1:25 PM UTC
I am neither the middle nor the oldest;
I am the youngest,
Yet I live in a place of invisibility.
My pleas are forgotten,
Discarded like an afterthought,
An issue to be dealt with "later."
Yet I am nothing but human,
As broken as anyone can be,
One who, if left waiting too long, will be lost.
I will not blame those who raised me,
Who nurtured me,
Who forgot about me once it became too hard.
I am forgiving, even of the wrong people,
Forgiving of everyone but myself,
Forgiving of everything except my own existence.
The blame will rest solely on me,
And I will pay for the crime of my very birth.
My name will fade slowly,
Then my existence,
Until I draw my final breath by my own hand.
2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 1:21 PM UTC
Why do they watch while you're new,
then look away once you're known?
Why do they listen-
only until they stop caring?
Why does it leave me feeling
like an open book no one reads,
a subject no one hates,
but no one chooses?
They speak just enough
to keep you there,
then vanish
when the light moves on.
And I stay-
watching everyone else shine
while I dim.
I don’t hate them for leaving.
I hate them for making me doubt
what I was good at,
for teaching me to overexplain
just to be held in place.
I am not porcelain-
not something to handle gently
and forget.
I am not netherite-
not something unbreakable,
studied for its strength.
I am human.
So stay-
not for a moment,
not for novelty.
Stay long enough
that I don’t feel
like something temporary.
Love me
without making me earn
the right to exist.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 11:02 AM UTC
White sleeves, quiet hands,
a mouth that never trembles.
They painted me gentle,
something close to divine-
no cracks,
no storms.
Yet tears are salty,
not sweet.
And angels are imagination,
not reality.
No matter how I suffer,
how much I hide,
how much I suppress,
I remain human.
Humanity is a flaw
in the image they created for me-
one so treacherous
it’s almost tragic.
Sweetness is expected,
so I give them silence.
No tremor in my gaze,
no true emotion
in the melody my mouth exhales-
nothing that proves
my obvious humanity.
My image is a halo
painted on the devil,
so contradictory
it almost feels right-
Like a stain
on a pure white dress,
so faint it seems part of it-
Like a life meant to be lived,
yet reduced
to the fears
of an insecure teenager.
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 10:30 AM UTC
I stare at the object before me.
They told me it was called a mirror. I didn’t understand why at first—
but now, I can see it.
The mirror cracked, yet it still remembered my face.
Shards fell to the ground, each carrying one of my ghosts.
Some were sharp and jagged, others smooth and clean,
but all stared back at me with the same purpose—
to tear me down.
I didn’t want to look, yet my gaze remained fixed.
My body refused to obey.
Cold, trembling hands reached for one of the sharp shards.
It moved along my skin, a crimson red following in its wake.
My head throbbed. My hands ached. Still, my body kept going.
It painted every shard in crimson,
until I was left in a world of broken glass.
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 8:07 AM UTC
I sat quietly in the room bestowed upon me.
Scrolling through stupid shorts on my phone,
my ears caught faint, silent screams.
My gaze shifted—
the mirror in the corner stared back.
Voices upon voices pressed against the glass,
barely audible,
like moths trapped in a crystal jar.
My fingers traced a line across its surface,
and a quiet choir rose from within.
Its voice was low and broken,
yet sharp, vengeful,
piercing the silence.
I couldn’t help but join in—
my own voice slipping away,
losing itself in that mirror,
forevermore.
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 8:07 AM UTC
Your scent I can easily recognise,
Your voice I can hear from miles away,
Your face I admire with infinite joy.
Yet I love you from afar,
I dare not think of approaching you;
Your peace should not be disturbed
by my wretched self.
You deserve so much—so much that I am not,
So much that I cannot give.
The only thing I may have is my body,
Though I fear giving even that to you.
I just want you to know that my love is deep,
That I will help however I can,
That I will keep loving you as long as you stay in my life,
And that I will protect you from the knives thrown your way…
Just please, live.
Be happy.
Choose your fate.
If your happiness is what causes my death,
Then I shall allow it.
I shall allow you to steal my soul,
My light,
And my very life.
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 3:45 PM UTC
My feet drag when I walk,
My words slur when I talk,
Yet my eyes remain open,
Even if I feel kind of drunken.
My gaze is blury,
Wether tears or just drowsiness I'm not sure,
I just know that I'm in a hurry,
And that I'll never see the light of the shore.
Ah! My emotions got the best of me again,
I really don't know why it happens,
It feels more like a bargain,
Between me and my body's functions.
Is this what they call "Exhaustion"?
The feeling that forces me to swallow the pain and guilt?
To swallow all those paracetamols in hopes of an eternal slumber?
The one that slowly kills me?
That makes my heart rot each and every day?
Is this what they call "Exhaustion"?
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 4:51 AM UTC
I stare at the six-foot-deep hole in the ground, where my body now lies.
I feel its coldness…
“Am I relieved, or am I scared?”
I ask myself, as if I knew the answer.
I ponder and wonder, watching those who bury me.
“Are they happy I died?
Are they glad I disappeared?”
These thoughts flood my mind.
All I ever gave them was warmth…
But was it enough?
Was I enough?
Did they expect more?
Do I still owe them the now-inexistent warmth I once held?
Or can my wandering soul finally rest?
Can I bury myself in peace—without regret?
…
I hope so.
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 6:10 AM UTC
“Guilty!” declares my sinful mind,
Its words reflect what burns inside.
I have not yet known true loss,
Yet treated her as if a cross.
I'm sinful and guilty as charged,
My affection never discharged…
Even when needed most.
My pleas deserve to be ignored,
My words to her too poor a reward…
I’d rather I haunt her as a ghost.
Now she lies hospitalized,
My— no, our affection overpriced,
Left unread like a forgotten post.
I pray I die before I see her death,
For guilt may steal my very breath,
I fear she will not stay…
Kind regards, and my utmost, most sincere apologies,
My dearest Grandma.
Feb 18
Feb 18, 2026 at 3:01 PM UTC