The wound is at her heart,
Her world is apart,
Trying to reach her,
Yet I can't speak with her.

Why is it so tough?
Whenever I see her,
I just stand there,
Frozen in the cold, with just a cough.

Is it my fault?
That I never stood by her,
Or is it her fault?
That she tried others?

I reach for words,
But they never stay,
They slip through my fingers
And fade away.

The day feels different,
But she wouldn’t know,
Once, I was there—
Now, I watch from the shadow.

If I had spoken,
Would things be the same?
Or was I meant to
Lose this game?

Today should be special,
Like the days we once knew,
But time has spoken—
And so, I stay silent too.

Locked inside the walls,
Sitting in the hall,
Trying to recall,
Yet I slip and fall.

What is it that inspires you?
What is it that desires you?
Is it inside these walls,
Or is it the outside calls?

Did I do something wrong?
Or have I been wrong all along?
Is it me who doesn’t belong,
Or is it the world that belongs?

The struggle is hard,
The game isn't fun,
But the process is an art,
And the player is one.

The inner voices ask,
"Am I done?"
The player removes the mask,
Killing himself with a gun.

They say:
Unsee their eyes,
Unlearn their feelings,
Clear your mind, and
Just focus on your dreams.
But the question is—
What is my dream?

Is it art?
Or is it music?
Maybe it’s both,
'Cause music itself is an art, right?

Or maybe it’s a boy,
Looking in the mirror,
Asking questions about
Affection and attraction.

Or maybe it’s a girl,
With soft eyes and a fake gaze.
But if it’s a girl,
Then it’s difficult to achieve, right?

Maybe it’s something else,
Yet to be discovered.
Or maybe it is discovered,
But I am still figuring it out.
Maybe I know what it is,
But I don’t know how to reach it.
Maybe I have taken a step,
Yet the path ahead remains uncertain.

Or maybe it is already achieved.
But if it is already achieved,
Then it is not a dream—
It is reality, right?

And if it is reality,
Then what is my dream?

Unsee, unlearn, let go.
Listen to their untrue laughter, then
walk away.
Unsee their eyes,
unlearn their feelings,
clear your mind, and
just focus on your dreams,
'cause their untrue laughter
won't help you sleep.

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?