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The sharp taps of the clock await my silence to break free from my wistful whisper—to never hear it while my eyes are shot open, to find my nerve and trigger it—as the sadness carefully passes through my system. Too far gone to care, leaving me paralyzed in a cold, soft, sinking bed.

It was a momentary piece where my head had the sensation of being stroked like piano keys, where a soft yet disturbing melody filled the place, and I closed my eyes, lulling me to my deep slumber.

There’s that unknown peace where a deep slumber could lead to an eternal doom—where the past, the present, and the future collide together, where everything exists together, whether in a beautiful song that’s pieced together, or loneliness held in thousands of agonies.

One thing is for sure, I have the guts to love the doomsday, and all things are possible because it is the end of May.
I haven’t been writing for months already. Maybe because I use my time to stuff my soul with the tasks in my work. Lately, I have not been feeling well. I know in my soul, there is an itch of hopelessness and anxiety. But I’m holding myself together.

For myself today, and for myself in the future.

I was able to come back into writing because of this song: Staying - Lizzy McAlpine
Maybe the fall,
Is gravity's call.

At one with the universe,
Floating around amniotic fluid,
Not being coerced.

How
My heart aches,
When the water breaks.

Separation begins,
As does the crying,
The cord has been
Cut.
This is no oedipus complex, but a state of grace.
The candle,
Only for yourself,
And your success,
After all it only gives enough ligh5
to find your way.
31/6/2025
  5h Traveler
Tom D
Eat when you are hungry
and when you’re tired sleep
Stop all the questioning
Life isn’t all that deep
“If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, **** Him”
She’s got the look
The image just right,
She’s got the look
Intelligent so bright.
She’s got the look
Heart of gold
She’s got the look
Always hot never cold
She’s got the look
Bucketfuls of humour
She had the look
She died of a
brain tumour
  5h Traveler
Pluto
You ask me what you are to me—
but how do I explain
that without you,
the light feels dimmer,
the world quieter,
and I—
less alive?

You are not a chapter.
You are the reason
the story keeps going.
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