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ziva
Poems2
Words197
it starts as a hum in the marrow of the bone, A frequency tuned to a tower unknown. It isn’t a spark, and it isn’t a fire, It’s the desperate grip on a live electric wire. The world becomes patterns of skin and of heat, A hunger that moves on anonymous feet. Searching for mirrors in a stranger’s dark eyes, To prove I exist beneath all the disguise. I am building a bridge out of shadows and breath, To outrun a silence that feels like a death. But the bridge has no footing, the anchor won't hold, And the warmth of the moment is instantly cold. It’s a dopamine ghost in a crowded glass room, A burst of the bright followed fast by the gloom. I am full of the motion but empty of grace, Lost in the map of a vanishing face. When the static subsides and the curtains are drawn, I am left with the gray, heavy light of the dawn. Wondering why, when the hunger is fed, The heart stays so hungry inside of the head.
0
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 3:39 AM UTC
Untitled
it starts as a hum in the marrow of the bone, A frequency tuned to a tower unknown. It isn’t a spark, and it isn’t a fire, It’s the desperate grip on a live electric wire. The world becomes patterns of skin and of heat, A hunger that moves on anonymous feet. Searching for mirrors in a stranger’s dark eyes, To prove I exist beneath all the disguise. I am building a bridge out of shadows and breath, To outrun a silence that feels like a death. But the bridge has no footing, the anchor won't hold, And the warmth of the moment is instantly cold. It’s a dopamine ghost in a crowded glass room, A burst of the bright followed fast by the gloom. I am full of the motion but empty of grace, Lost in the map of a vanishing face. When the static subsides and the curtains are drawn, I am left with the gray, heavy light of the dawn. Wondering why, when the hunger is fed, The heart stays so hungry inside of the head.
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20
The door is clicked the screen is dark the air begins to chill And now the room is louder since the racing pulse is still. Its a specific kind of heavy a gravity of soul Like trying to fill a broken cup thas nothing but a hole. I count the pieces left of me I scattered on the floor Wondering why I’m starving when ive never eaten more. The guilt is not a sudden lightning sharp and quick and bright Its the slow and steady rising of a cold and gray scale light. Im an architect of secrets building walls I hate to climb Trading pieces of my future for a frantic slice of time. Theres a ghost inside the mirror with a look I don’t confess Who confuses being wanted with a cure for loneliness. Every "yes" was just a "no" that I didn't have the strength to say A way to numb the stinging of a long and hollow day. But the numbness has a price tag and the bill is coming due In the distance I have created between who I am and you. I want to wash the static off to scrub until I’m clean, To be a person once again and not a brief machine. But the guilt it stays like iron a shadow on the chest The exhaustion of a marathon that never grants a rest.
0
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 3:39 AM UTC
idk
The door is clicked the screen is dark the air begins to chill And now the room is louder since the racing pulse is still. Its a specific kind of heavy a gravity of soul Like trying to fill a broken cup thas nothing but a hole. I count the pieces left of me I scattered on the floor Wondering why I’m starving when ive never eaten more. The guilt is not a sudden lightning sharp and quick and bright Its the slow and steady rising of a cold and gray scale light. Im an architect of secrets building walls I hate to climb Trading pieces of my future for a frantic slice of time. Theres a ghost inside the mirror with a look I don’t confess Who confuses being wanted with a cure for loneliness. Every "yes" was just a "no" that I didn't have the strength to say A way to numb the stinging of a long and hollow day. But the numbness has a price tag and the bill is coming due In the distance I have created between who I am and you. I want to wash the static off to scrub until I’m clean, To be a person once again and not a brief machine. But the guilt it stays like iron a shadow on the chest The exhaustion of a marathon that never grants a rest.
Continue reading...
20