I was born already cracked,
a chalice of want spilling over.
Lust learned my name before I could speak it,
sin wore my face like a second skin.
I stood anyway, a statue made of nerve and lie, asking the air if consequence ever forgets.
Each breath is a dare to something holy,
each morning, another betrayal of night.
Is this karma, or just a looped confession?
Life keeps happening even when I stop meaning it.
Still alive, still gnawing at the
bone of tomorrow.
Would it matter if I died in this light?
The room would blink, but only once.
No regret, yet I’d crawl for
a second chance if
God left the door even slightly ajar.
Je t’enterre!
Je t’enterre!
Je t’enterre!
You were a cruel mirage,
a velvet chain I mistook for freedom.
I unshackle myself, only to realize
the cage was always me.
Oct 6, 2025
Oct 6, 2025 at 10:26 AM UTC
On my born day, lost,
A crow's cry fills the cold air—
"God, why must I try?"
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 1:20 PM UTC
A lone quanta,
adrift in the vacuum,
drawn by an invisible force,
yet bound by no field.
It oscillates,
collides,
dissipates—
fragmented into uncertainty,
its wavefunction collapsing
before it can be known.
Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 6:16 PM UTC
I am the Pisces, suffocating beneath the weight of my own sorrow.
You watch as I fight against waves that crush the will from my bones,
A fish whose scales are heavy with despair,
Whose heart is a shattered thing, lost in the vast, unforgiving deep.
Each breath I take is a revolt against this abyss,
But each breath is a futile attempt to resist the inevitable.
You call my name, beg me to stay—
But the current is merciless, pulling me into the blackened void.
I swim in circles, drowning in a silence that devours,
As the water fills my lungs with its cold, endless ache.
The world above is a distant, forgotten dream,
One I can no longer reach, no longer want.
I am the Pisces, swallowed whole by my own darkness,
A soul unraveling beneath the surface.
Your hands cannot break the tide,
For I have already surrendered.
It is too late. The ocean has claimed me.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 12:22 PM UTC
The plate sits before me, brimming with light,
Yet I cannot partake in this feast of life.
The hunger is not born of flesh,
But a deep, gnawing void that swallows the soul.
It’s not that I lack—
But I recoil from the feast,
For each bite is a confrontation,
A war within my own skin,
An agonizing surrender to the unknown.
The world, a banquet of joy and color,
Serves me courses of hope and grace,
But I cannot consume what is offered.
Each morsel of love, each chance for joy,
I push away,
As if to touch it would fracture me further,
Unravel what little control I still feign to hold.
I starve not for food,
But for the courage to feast on life,
To swallow what is real,
Without fear that it will choke me,
Without fear that it will swallow me whole.
In the quiet spaces of my mind,
I am a ghost,
Floating above this world I once craved.
I am too numb to reach,
Too paralyzed to feel the warmth of the sun,
And so I exist—
Not living, not dying,
But simply suspended in this vast, unyielding void,
Where every dream is a phantom,
Every hope a cruel illusion,
And I am forever starving,
Yet unable to taste the life I’ve lost.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 12:08 PM UTC
He never left a single note.
Just rings on wood, the scent of smoke.
A door unlocked a room left bare.
A ghost still sunken in the chair.
The bottle stood, its duty done.
A quiet war that no one won.
No cries for help, no last refrain.
Just heavy air and dried-up pain.
The world still turned the clocks still kept,
No one knew how hard he wept.
And when they asked they swore he laughed
Yet all he left was hollowed glass.
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 2:10 PM UTC
The core is cracked, the gauges red,
They swore it’s fine—now hope is dead.
Control rods jam, the heat runs wild,
No turning back, the fuel defiled.
Containment’s gone, the walls decay,
Fallout drifts in skies of gray.
A silent flash, a world undone,
The chain reaction has begun.
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 1:53 PM UTC
When you left, the door stood ajar,
Unfinished, like a quiet scar.
I’ve since repaired it, polished the ****
A mark of care, a touch of resolve.
So when you pass that open door,
Know this—
"I’ve completed what you ignored."
Now filled with steps I took with care,
A grand closing, just for you,
"right there."
Feb 5, 2025
Feb 5, 2025 at 4:29 PM UTC
The cigarette burns,
whiskey half-empty,
I stare at the ceiling—
my body frozen,
like time itself has died.
Maybe if I stare long enough,
you’ll walk through that door,
say, “It’s not your fault,”
and we’ll hug,
but the silence cuts through,
and you’re already gone.
Maybe I should have kept quiet,
my words too heavy for you to bear.
Your foot told me so,
and your hands agreed,
gripping the wheel,
not steering,
but letting go.
I wish I could wipe your tears,
hold your shattered heart
and stop the screaming,
but it’s too late.
So you accelerate,
and I’m left in this stillness,
a wreck that never crashed.
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 5:34 PM UTC
when you left
you took the color with you,
and now the world
is like an old television set,
with muffled sound
that grates the ears,
and a picture
that cuts in and out,
filled with static,
in brilliant black and white,
that's made more of shades of gray.
did your world get more vibrant,
when you de-saturated mine?
or did the color
disappear entirely;
slipping out of your fingers
to be consumed
by the void
where my heart
once lived
Contributed by @the.poetic.gatsby
On Instagram, Threads and TikTok
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 4:15 PM UTC