A white feather bird,
Sitting on my grill,
Under the quiet moon,
As the world stands still.

It tilts its head,
Eyes dark yet bright,
Speaking in silence,
In the hush of the night.

"Why are you sad?"
It asks with a sigh,
"Are you afraid?"
As stars fill the sky.

"What do you want?"
Its voice lingers near,
"Is it difficult?"
Soft, yet so clear.

I stare at the bird,
Yet words do not flow,
For how do I answer,
What I barely know?

Rainy Day,  
Blurred Eyes,  
Lost My Way,  
Lost My Sight.  

Another Day,  
Another Try,  
Searching for a Path,  
Reaching for the Sky.  

Different Day,  
Different Time,  
No Place to Rest,  
Not a Dime.  

What to Say,  
What to Rhyme,  
Lost My Way,  
Lost My Time.

Today just passed like any other day,
Nothing happened in an extraordinary way.
Today is just another day,
That will soon fade away,
Like yesterday.

And sadly, tomorrow will become today.
I don’t know how to control this—
These feelings,
These emotions,
These affections,
In which I’m lost.

Sometimes, I wake up to the sound of shattering dreams—
Not anyone’s but mine.
And I stay up, thinking, What am I doing?
Technically, I’m not doing anything.
That’s the problem—I’m not doing anything.
I’m just lying down like an animal,
Lying like a human who has never experienced sleep.

It’s 3 AM now, and I’m still standing here,
Watching the rain slowly fall,
Listening to your voice echo from the clouds.
And I don’t know how to control this,
I don’t know what’s right anymore,
I don’t know what to live for.

Maybe I should drop this black pen
That you gave me—
The one that helps me write,
Even when I feel all uptight.
Maybe I should switch my hobby,
Maybe I should go smoke outside.

But maybe I shouldn’t.
What if I couldn’t?
Maybe I’m overthinking,
Maybe I should wait for another day,
Maybe I should hope that everything will be okay.

One day, maybe?

Lying in my bed, and I can't sleep,
There are too many thoughts running deep.
I don’t know how to make them fade,
It’s a battle within that can't be swayed.

I’ve done everything wrong, not a **** thing right,
I close my eyes, yet they stay open wide.
Am I lost, or am I broken?
A question left unspoken.

I write on empty pages so they might feel whole,
I wonder—if I spoke, could I fill my soul?

Have you ever wondered why stars shine at night?
When all is dark, do you still need light?
I think they’re the battle scars of the sky,
A thousand paper cuts before it dies.

I believe something hides behind the dark,
Consuming it slowly, leaving its mark.
I think the night sky is an armor,
Shielding us from the bright demon,
Waiting to collect us in the cruel morning.

They feed on our hearts, our souls like fuel,
Yet these are just theories I cannot prove.
Still, there’s a line that rings true:
"Dark is not scary; dark is poetry."

Maybe it's not today, maybe it's tomorrow.
Maybe it's not going to happen, maybe it will happen.
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right.
Maybe it's a one-sided wish,
Maybe it's your incomplete wish.
Maybe it's not us who pulled the trigger,
But the past holding the explosive.
Maybe all we had were actions, with no motive.
Maybe it's just the voices in my head,
Maybe it's your absence from my mindset.
Maybe it's my mirror telling me lies,
Maybe it's the empty skies.

Or maybe it's us,
Or the way you make me feel like a curse.
Have I become crazy?
Call me anything, but don't call me lazy.
Call me a lover before you call me a loser.
I'm aware of my reputation, but I swear I'm not the user.
Call me anything, any name you want,
Or maybe just call me — that's all I want.
Or maybe just look at me with soft eyes and a fake gaze,
I'm aware that my head is a maze.

Are you aware that I love quiet, but your silence I can't stand?
Are you aware that my heart is in the palm of your hand?
Are you aware that I look at you like you're the moon?
Are you aware that you give me the look, like you're not the one?
Maybe you're aware, or maybe you just pretend it well.

I have written thousands of letters,
I have written hundreds of nights,
And I have seen two lovers fight —
But they’re not fighting with each other,
Still, they are lovers in my story.

I have watched them talking,
A few lies and a thousand truths.
I have written their story,
I have decorated their glory.

That’s all I have given to them,
This is all I would leave behind.
But that’s not all they deserve,
And I will try again for them.
I will write their story again for them.

I would burn all the ashes for them,
Without paying any mind.
I would try to write their names together,
But I know I can’t spell it forever.

Still, I would continue writing their story,
I would write it like a song,
I would sing it like a poem,
I would say it like they’re gods —
In the hope that somehow, they can be together.

But they can’t be the same lovers,
Because, as I said before,
They’re fighting, but not with each other.
They’re complaining, but not about each other.
They’re crying about their lovers
Who left them halfway.

We don't cry because something is sad.
We cry because something is more beautiful than we expected it to be.

And we just don’t have that
"more beautiful" thing.