Walking in a dark place, with only the moonlight as the lumens
The only company I have are these white dots that we only see at dark called phosphenes
But the white dots are scrambled and muddled with no picture or shape
Maybe my mind just locked my imagination with no structure and escape
I've gone too far to not walk this path that I do not know of
So I trace the static, pretending it’s a constellation I made up
At first it’s just hallucination, but slowly the dots start to bend
A line here, a curve there, like something might pretend
To be a road, a gate, a sign that I can't seem understand
And with each step I take, the shape begins to expand
For amoment it felt real, like a path I didn’t carve but found
A direction drawn in dots, without instruction , itjust came around
But everytime I blink, it breaks, the lines and shapes dissolve
And I’m left with just the dark and dots that was meant to connect but couldn't be solved
So maybe the map had no shape nor name because there was never one
Only my mind drawing routes where none had begun
I guess it was just my imagination that made me delusional that I had made progress but nothing has been done.
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 10:01 PM UTC
Deep breaths filled to the brim with tenacity,
But his audacity during rehearsal loaded his mental capacity.
He rehearses every “action” till the real thing slips away.
Now his chest is full of air that has nowhere to be than to decay.
He scripts lines he’ll never show,
And polishes edges on a door that won’t open till it’s beaut,
His tongue knows the words in the mirror’s hold,
but his feet forget them once the threshold’s cold.
Courage is loud backstage, quiet where it matters, gone the moment it’s played.
Now the air has heard more rehearsal
than the person they’re meant for today,
and the silence keeps counting to four,
because he keeps swinging at shadows on the floor.
What a fool they say—
because he’s been rehearsing alone infront of a mirror all day.
May 20
May 20, 2026 at 5:16 AM UTC
In a room, the man builds his day from breath, and calls them lived.
He draws a map on lungs gone thin, where every crossroad ends back within.
He asked a question to the air, and the air answersed none because it's wasn't there.
He sets a second cup beside the window, watches steam learn the shape of a name so rare.
Bought a small flower wrapped in green, and keeps it on the shelf where it's never clean.
A plan to walk that ends at the door, but his feet rehearse his steps on the floor.
He seeks a reason to empty chairs, and the silence keeps it like a prayer unshared,
He already bought what he thought was good, yet asks what more reason he ever should
Steam spells out what breath could not, a ghost of roads his lungs forgot.
The flower wilts to match the chair, two vacant things left waiting there.
He built the day, he chose the deem, and called the lock a mercy scheme.
And every night he kills the light that never was, to prove him right.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 5:03 AM UTC
Three Doses
There was a town he visited once,
just for an afternoon on a certain day.
The roads had no signs, but the air had a fein smell.
He sat on a bench and watched the clocks forget themselves.
No one honked. No one yelled.
The buildings leaned in to listen.
He returned with empty pockets
His lungs was full of air, he couldn't pronounce.
Now his own town is just a madeleine moment,
and every breath he takes is just loment.
Because the town he was in was full of fragments.
He walks where the alley fold and fray.
The rain came and went that quickly washed away in gray.
The wind still calls his name in sunken tones,
but the sidewalks crumble beneath his eyeful bones.
The first dose
He waits where the shade never fades
for a bus with no purpose, in a charade of parades.
Each sunset and sunrise brings a different atmosphere.
until the mood was broken as something passed—
it was a reindeer.
He wondered why there was a reindeer,
but life didn’t care. The reindeer kept on,
It came from a place with hooves that were carved, and a town that didn't have a name.
No sleigh, no snow, no northern star—
just the afternoon he breathed, returned from afar.
Because the scar remains, he knows its name:
the curb, the rain, the clockless frame.
The buildings leaning, unafraid,
all grew antlers, all obeyed.
the shape of doors he’d never known,
and it turned out that life wasn't something you found in a room, it was out there waiting to be seen.
Second Dose
Because it showed him, he cannot unlearn.
Yet he is stupid, shy, and small.
His hands won’t make the antlers turn,
or build the town, or break the hall.
He cannot call the reindeer to come,
or speak the air, or beat the drum.
Because he cannot call, he waits.
And waiting feeds the seam’s own greed.
Greed says more where once still.. Longs
and plants a paper tongue to plead.
So still, he waits in fold and fray
for that same reindeer to cross his way—
the reindeer-town with rain for breath,
the only cure that starves to death.
The last Dose. None—
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 5:02 AM UTC
Another day, another "incorrect address" stamped in red,
And the post office keeps calling for the residence that's left for dead.
So I marked it as a return to sender, forgetting the sender is me.
I tell them I moved, but my forwarding address is still "maybe".
The clerks keep sorting mail for tenants who checked out years ago,
Routing slips get signed in triplicate, then filed where silt goes.
Someone leaves the front door cracked for packages lacking any claim,
And every morning, the same envelope arrives, marked "same".
Night time arrives, nearly the time to clock out.
But left with endless packages that left me knocked out.
The supervisors stamp "unclaimed" on boxes stacked to the ceiling,
And the night crew whistles past the cages to avoid dealing.
The skyscraper of parcels, almost done with all this tower of bundles,
Still going with no sleep till there's no more left to handle.
Suddenly I dozed off, leaving behind all my work for my future self,
With a dream so good, my body heals every cell and suture.
Until it's morning and the eyes open back to fluorescent glare,
The same red stamp waits on the desk, fresh ink, same old dare.
The shift bell rings. The doors unlock. The queue forms down the street.
And the first package of the day is addressed to last night’s defeat.
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 5:15 AM UTC
As the seeds are planted beneath the soil
With the sun's heat, water starts to boil
A sprout came out one after the other
But the gardener is not satisfied, he planted another.
The earth is rich, the seeds abound
As merry as a kid-whistles a lovely sound
As moments melt into the years
The gardener's garden's lush, suddenly fell into tears.
Looking at all the seeds he planted
A plentiful sight, like his wish was granted
Like a scar in his heart is starting to heal
But too many seeds is not ideal
The garden's vast, the seeds are many
A single stream can't water them all, not enough money
One heart can't nurture, one soul can't bear
The weight of the world, the seeds that wither and spare
Left with no choice, gardener is in despair
He left some seeds, enough for the stream to care
Too many thoughts he carried, a rest he needs
Said "Why did I plant too many seeds? "
Jan 13
Jan 13, 2026 at 10:07 AM UTC
There is and will always be a hole in everyones heart, but the real hole is hidden beneath that hole.
That hole signifies your knowledge on your acads, family, friends, or a certain someone.
I was talking to myself, wanting to make another poem, and all my poems consist of the kind of person I am. But not all.
A certain someone left a hole in my heart, I was curious and explored it, the more I explored, the more knowledge I gained. Eventually I reached the end of that hole, but I was not satisfied, so I dug deeper and deeper and deeper, and the deeper I went, the more knowledge I gained again and again.
It's heavy, the pressure is heavy. It's like when deeper you dig on the earths surface the more pressure you felt, it's like that. That pressure in the hole i'm in, is the pressure of knowledge, but i've dug to the point where there's no going up, and plus I got more curious, a big mistake I say.
Then I knew I was nearing the end of that hole, I was so relieved since I can't handle the pressure anymore, then one more digging, and the floor beneath me crumbled, and I fell deeper and deeper and everything i've learned, the bigger picture, I know now. I'm in the buttom of the hole now, no light, no way out. The regret comes rushing in "oh why did I explore". It hurts knowing everything, how that certain person think, moves, what their schedule is, and the reason behind their actions. Feeling like there's no escaping and no getting out, left or right, fron or back, there's a wall of dirt " How do I get out". Stuck in there for days, the irony, since I don't even know if a day had passed.
I talk to my self again, since I know my
inner self knows what to do, but I just act oblivious, unintentionally. Just accept it and move on, it said. The only way to move on is if you dig deeper, there's mo other way, up or down, left or right, front or back there's no way. I dug more once again, I shouldered it all. The more I dug, slowly but surely the pressure lessened, but the heavier the shovel and my feets got. Until I dug out, finally i'm out, I said. I looked in the hole, now there's a deep deep hole left behind, feeling heavy, regret sadness, melancholic? Joy?. Until I got used there having a hole. Eventually you'll fall into that hole again in the future, but if you've truly moved on, that hole should be shallow but still noticeable.
Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 11:02 PM UTC
A story thats been told so many times,
Still telling it over and ove despite not wanting to feels like a crime,
Believe it or not is none of my concern, as long as I know its truth, the embers will smolder, a constant burn.
The words spill out, a never ending stream,
A burden hared, yet guilt's extreme,
Im trapped in cycles, a prisoner of time,
A maze of persistence, a story to resolve.
A problem seller, with no solutions in store,
How do I break free, should I start in the core?
Yet despite all the efforts, I feel doomed to fall
With no more reasons, and causes to back me on, I just sleep it all.
Apr 24, 2025
Apr 24, 2025 at 12:12 PM UTC
Everything can go extinct, not just species, but also emotions. A feeling once burned with intensity, now reduced to a distant memory, leaving only a haunting sense of what it is. It's a sorrow that's hard to put into words, a grief not just about what's been lost. Left with a hollow echo, a reminder of what once was, a bittersweet nostalgia that taunts us with its presence.
A sentiment so strong, was consigned to oblivion.
A relic so forgotten, locked up in obsidian.
It exists, yet is nonexistent, like the median.
Proclaim its truth, and they'll think you're a comedian.
This desolate landscape, a question stays.
Where emotions was once, slowly but surely decays:
Leaving us nothing but a hollowed place.
A taunting reminder, leaving us with no space.
The emptiness gnaws, like a hunger that's real.
The urge to know and the longing to feel:
Echoes of a memory, that will forever last.
A feeling we know by experience, but can no longer grasp.
Feb 25, 2025
Feb 25, 2025 at 9:32 PM UTC
Repeats, and repeats, ansd repeats, a relentless beat,
1, 2, 3, 4, in sequence, my thoughts compete.
Consolidated musing thoughts, steadfast and strong,
Leave me in awe, like a dimension where I belong.
Perilous reflections, a vow I must make,
"Always and never, forget what you'd forsake."
Inertia's weight intensifies, yet I won't be swayed,
My heart remains steadfast, through life's disarrays.
6, 7, 8, the weight of my uncertain fate
9, 10, 11, 12, a question we all must face
Count with me, and let's step into the unknown
Together, we'll brave what's to come, and make it our own
Walking or running, while humming or singing, until then.
Let's embrace of what's to come,
And find harmony in the rhythm of our life's obscure journey
Feb 25, 2025
Feb 25, 2025 at 6:21 AM UTC