The once I was, so fragile and glass,
Carrying a plate, unfilled and vast.
Piercing gazes of wanderers adored,
Curdled like milk where love was stored.

Oh heavens, I am banished, for I cannot give the flesh,
Trapped in this emptiness, soul left to thresh.
The hunger unquenched on this forsaken plate,
As they vociferate Lucifer in this desolate state.

Stripped of all I could have claimed,
The broken pieces bleed the void,
And it swallows whole, consuming still
The soul that once was pure.

But does the void drink the blood that it spills,
Or does it hunger for something still?
Does it whisper of what was, or laugh as it feeds,
Or is it simply my voice, echoing needs?

Is it the plate that shapes what I am to be,
Or am I still I, even when set free?
Was I the plate, the feast, the giver,
Or merely hunger made to wither?

If I am not the vessel, then what remains,
A ghost of a banquet, or echoes of names?
And if I was never enough to consume,
Was I meant to be devoured or meant to exhume?

If I shatter, do I cease to exist,
Or am I reborn in the slivers that twist?
If nothing is left, then what was the cost,
Was I ever whole, or just something lost?

If absence is endless, can it be filled,
Or does it stretch until time is stilled?
If the void stares back, does it recognize me,
Or does it reshape me, nameless and free?

If I gather the pieces, do they still fit,
Or was I never meant to commit?
If the feast was a lie, was the hunger real,
Or was I just meant to kneel?

And if I kneel, does that mean I remain,
Or was I never here to begin with?

Sitting on the patio
Beneath the crescent glow,
It casts its silver light
On the quiet below

A chilly night descends,
Escaping the day's rush
Wrapped in a gentle breeze,
In this peaceful hush.

Like the moon above,
Should I fill the empty space,
Or am I just a phase,
In this cool, serene place?

Sitting on a plastic chair beneath the burning noon,

Music fills the air like a distant, hollow tune.

I drift between the realms of dreams and stark realities,

Intoxicated by the mysteries, yet bound by sober ties.

Am I but a thought that lingers in the night,
Or do I truly exist in this fleeting light?

In skies above, where dreams are spun,
Soft clouds dance, blocking the sun.
Whispers of mist, a fleeting shroud,
A canvas of sky, in whispers loud.

Pillows of white, on azure blue,
A celestial waltz, forever anew.
They drift and gather, a tranquil crowd,
Painting tales in the sky, untold.

Cottony wisps, in an endless race,
Chasing horizons, with gentle grace.
Rainbow hues in their folds endowed,
A symphony of nature, playing loud.

So gaze upon this celestial art,
As clouds weave stories from the start.
In the vast expanse, a beauty avowed,
The poetry of the sky, in a cloud.

Tears falling down
In the face of misery
Tearing apart the wound
Of the past
As I crawl into the mist of despair
I found myself in a maze
Of tragedy
Faded sense of reality
Drains the soul
Of the unknown

Hungry for something that you don't have and seeking for it nowhere