The darkness is coming,
You know this all too well.
You can see the drowning sun
Feel the breath of the icy wind
As the night stretches its claws across the sky

The darkness is coming.
And there's nothing you can do
But watch as the last rays of light shatter
And your fragile hope flickers,
Fading into ash.

The darkness is coming
You wait with dread
As ink bleeds into the sky,
And shadows crawl from the cracks
To dance upon your fears.

The darkness is coming
You fight for your life
But the shadows coil around your lungs,
Dragging you down,
Where your screams are swallowed whole.

The darkness is coming
And you almost welcome it,
Letting it pull you under,
Where broken dreams and forgotten prayers
Linger in the void.

The darkness is coming.
So you surrender,
Eyes closed,
Heart still beating—
Waiting for whatever comes next.

I remember
The days
I grew up
Beaming,
Laughter threading through the halls
Like echoes that knew my name.

And when I left
My only regret
Was never hearing them sing
The ode to me.

Still,
I knew
I mattered to them.
Their words I'll keep
In the folds of my heart
Or tucked away in lines of code

But this year
They're silent.
And I stand outside,
Face to the sky,
I pray for rain to fall
So I will not weep alone.

As a child I wondered what it'd be like to be an angel
Soaring through the heavens on white feathers, playing golden harps in tune with the whistling of the wind.

And so I stepped onto flightless wings and let their hands guide me to the skies.
I looked up,
Up to where the the clouds floated
Where the winds lifted my hair with mischief and whispered songs of freedom
Where the ground was but a memory miles away
Where my fingertips felt like they could touch the infinite blue

...

Now, as I fall, I think mournfully to myself
What a childish dream it was, to think I could ever leave the shackles of the ground

And yet...
And yet
I find myself 10 again
Waiting for the next brush of heaven

I can’t seem to name
This feeling

Not hunger—
I had breakfast.
Not fatigue—
I slept a full 8 hours last night.
Not laziness—
PE was today
Not stress—
Exams are over. For now.
Not sadness—
But not happiness either.
Not fear—
My heart beats slow.
Not loneliness—
I’m surrounded by people.
Not guilt—
I’ve done nothing wrong
Not peace—
This fog doesn’t count
Not confusion—
I don’t care right now

I wear
Mismatched socks—
yellow and blue.
Tie my hair off-center,

A quiet defiance
Against the perfection
Society demands

They call it chaos.
I call it freedom.
To me,
Imperfections are beautiful.

Black and blue marks
On my arm—
Ink, of course. What else?
Words, thoughts, feelings, fears
Written, smudged, then erased.
Leftover streaks,
They wash away
With a smidge of soap and water.
And yet…
I can’t help but remember
When I wrote
With mechanical pencils
And staple bullets
Instead of ballpoint pens
And gel ones.
When I watched the ink,
A gorgeous shade of rubies,
Trickle
Down to my wrist
Like a rivulet of lava.
Now, the fire has long faded
Leaving white ashes
That won’t come off