the fear of fate
one click and it will close the gate
everything will be set in stones
and carved deep into my bones .
turning back in time won't be an option
everything will end.
and ..as much as I complained all the way to there
I'm kinda of afraid of the end.

she was 12,
of course no one believed her.
she was 12,
of course she was blamed.
she was 12,
of course she thinks its her fault.
she was 12,
of course they laughed at her when she opened up about it.
she was 12,
of course she thought it was love.
she was 12,
of course it was the clothes.
she was 12,
of course she couldn't press charges.
she was 12,
of course it still haunts her.
she was 12,
of course she's disgusted by her self.
she was 12,
of course she wasn't taken seriously.
she was 12.

The abandoned railway line
leads to lush green
and clematis tangles
To a stream
that broke through
the crumbling stone wall
Owls nest there and children explore
What man abandons
and time devours
Earth brings back to life
her eternal children

Please tell me the ending is good—
I don’t want to get lost.
I feel trapped in a wood
I don't know the path of


The voices whisper,
“Follow the glowing lights,”
but there’s nothing in sight—
just imposters dressed in white,
waiting to catch me
when I’m too tired to fight.

And believe me, I’m tired.
Nothing gets me inspired
I don’t even recognize the girl in the mirror.

Each morning, I stand,
staring at her silhouette—
thinner,
slimmer.
I linger on her figure and wonder,
“Did I wrong her?
She deserved so much more.”

But no one sees that.
So, I play along,
pretending to be strong—
like I’ve done for so long,
just to belong.

Please tell me the ending is good.
Because if it’s not,
I’ll have to build a house
in the woods

The tower penetrates
the puffy pink
clouds, and the
horizon squirts
sweet rain.
My face gets
sticky.
She is the sky.

one day i will be a flower.

with you, we blush underneath the daylight.

as the wind blows and my petals float away,
hopefully they end up leading me back to you.

Eyes lift upon daybreak
To dread and worry most days.
The mundane routine.
The dog and the coffee and the mouths to feed.
Numbly through the motions.
A shell of myself. Carrying on.
Rotting from the inside.
Keeping normalcy. Emotionless.
Hiding behind my hair to let a tear fall.
Daydreaming of escaping to nowhere.
To darkness.
To a sleep I never wake from.

Evening sky reflects
on the glass lake.
The soldier of a
tree carries on
through the lonesome
night.
If we could only
see the dreams of
the fish,
far from the
frying pan.