some mornings,
I wake up like a god—
fire in my veins,
everything electric,
everything possible.
I could climb
the highest ******* building,
shout at the sun,
make it blink first.
I could tear this city apart
just to see how it’s wired.

other days,
I wake up
already halfway buried.
there’s no fight,
no fire,
just the weight of everything
I thought I could be
piling up,
brick by brick,
until I can’t tell
where I end
and the shadows begin.

and in between—
the waiting room days,
the ones that don’t count,
where you sit
with your hands in your lap
watching the ceiling crack,
wondering which side of you
will win tomorrow.
maybe neither.
maybe both.

I’ve tried to explain it before—
how one minute you’re on fire,
and the next you’re just ash,
how living like this
isn’t something
you ever
get good at.
you just ride it,
hold on
until it throws you off,
then crawl back up again,
because what else
is there to do?

sometimes,
in the quiet moments,
when it’s all leveled out—
no beast to tame,
no hole to fall into—
I feel something
like peace.
but peace
isn’t what I came here for.
I’m here
to burn,
to rise,
to fall,
to ride the beast
again and again,
until I can’t tell
if it’s carrying me
or I’m carrying it.

She smiled,
but only barely,
like it was a secret she didn’t want
you to know.

And for a second,
it felt like the world
might not be so bad after all.

They say you’re wise,
grown for your age,
like some cracked old mirror,
reflecting a world that doesn’t care.
The way you speak—
too much weight in those little shoulders,
eyes that’ve seen too many things
they shouldn’t know yet.

They say it like a compliment,
like they’re giving you a crown
for walking barefoot through fire
at seven years old,
your laugh too quiet,
your smile too rare.

They say you’re “mature,”
as if it’s a badge to wear,
but behind that mask
is a kid who never got to be one.
A soul too old too soon,
forged in the furnace of life’s *******.

It’s sad, you know—
you got dealt a hand
meant for someone twice your age,
and now they call you grown,
like it’s something to be proud of,
but all I see
is a heart that’s lost its sparkle,
and a mind that’s heavy with what it shouldn’t know.

You act adult,
because you had to,
but there’s nothing more tragic
than having to grow up
before you’ve even had the chance
to be a kid.

the club was loud, drunk, and stupid—
a place where people forget themselves
just long enough to pretend they are free.
I wasn’t pretending.
I saw you.

two classmates, two drinks,
one thing on my mind.
I said hello, we talked—
but the other girl might as well have been a shadow.
it was you, only you,
and I knew it before you even touched me.

your waist under my hand,
hips moving, bodies too close to be anything but honest.
the music was deafening, but when I turned to you
and asked—
can I kiss you?
I swear the whole ******* world went silent.

then—
heat.
your lips on mine like something hungry,
something desperate,
something that had been waiting to happen
long before either of us knew it.
we didn’t stop.
we couldn’t.

your hands in my hair, my hands on your skin—
pulling, searching, knowing.
your body against me, pressed close enough
that I could feel your breath
before you stole mine.
I forgot the club, the drinks, the people.
I forgot everything but you.

you sat on my lap,
wrapped around me like you belonged there.
my fingers traced your spine,
felt your ribs, your heartbeat.
I wanted to press myself into you,
leave something behind
so that tomorrow, you’d still feel me
somewhere under your skin.

we had to stop to breathe,
but even that felt like a waste—
because every time we pulled away,
your eyes just dragged me back in.
and god, I never knew wanting could be like this.
like thirst, like hunger, like the kind of madness
that makes men build temples
and burn cities to the ground.

and now—
morning.
class.
the test I didn’t study for because I spent all night
learning the shape of your mouth.
I sit here, staring at you across the room,
wondering—
was it just a drunk kiss?
will you look at me like that again?
or will you let the night die
like something you never really wanted?

I don’t know.
but what I do know is this—
I never wanted to stop.
and I sure as hell don’t want to now.

We stood too close,
close enough to feel
the heat off her skin.

She didn’t step back.
Neither did I.

But the air between us
was full of things
we were too afraid to touch.

the world sounds like a train station at rush hour,
like voices layered thick as the steam that once rose from the engines,
all of them talking, talking—
parents, teachers, lovers, ghosts,
therapists with soft hands and tired eyes,
children with too much sugar and not enough sleep,
the man at the bus stop swearing at his shoelace,
the woman in the checkout line whispering to herself
about the price of milk and memory.

everything hums, everything aches.

i hear the couple in the apartment next door,
arguing in low, sharp murmurs,
then falling silent—
a different kind of violence.
i hear the late-night sirens slicing through sleep,
the way the city coughs up its trouble
and swallows it again before dawn.

somewhere, a student scratches answers onto a test,
a teacher sighs into her coffee,
a cashier forces a smile so rehearsed it has lost all meaning.
somewhere, a father tells his son to stop crying,
a girl laughs too loud so no one notices she is alone,
a poet stares at a blank page and calls it art.

the world is a choir of voices that don’t know they are singing,
a symphony of car horns and apologies,
of breakups and reconciliations,
of doors slamming and doors opening,
of someone’s grief sitting heavy in their chest,
and someone else’s joy spilling like sunlight across the floor.

i hear it all—
the hushed phone calls from hospital rooms,
the quiet sobs in bathroom stalls,
the unspoken things lodged in people’s throats.
but most of all, i hear their emptiness.

it is the hollow sound of footsteps in an empty house,
the silence between two people who used to be everything,
the way a person says “I’m fine” like they’re trying to convince themselves.
it is the spaces between words,
the long pauses where a confession should be,
the weight of days that feel like echoes of nothing.

but also—
the soft laughter of old friends at midnight,
the way a child’s voice lifts like a paper boat on a stream,
the sound of someone you love saying your name
like it’s a song they’ve always known.

the world sounds like everything,
all at once, all the time.
it is loud, it is relentless,
but listen long enough,
and sometimes—
it sounds like music.

i’m always tired but sleep won’t come—
a ****** paradox in the neon gloom.
i lie awake in this cold, honest bed,
clean for now, but who can trust that state?

the city moans its tired tune,
a chorus of broken dreams and whispered regrets.
they strut around, calling themselves proud,
but behind the smiles i see the cracks—
the lies, the masks, the slow decay
of all that’s left when reality bites.

i never sleep; my mind’s a relentless engine
rumbling toward another inevitable ****-up.
each morning is a promise of ruin,
each night a desperate bid for escape.
so why not get high, even just for a while,
to numb the ceaseless ticking of self-destruction,
to steal a few hours of peace
in this endless dance with the void?

i stumble through empty bars and midnight streets,
where cigarettes burn like small rebellions
against the weight of tomorrow.
i’m chasing that fleeting rest, a moment’s silence
amid the chaos, before the cycle snaps—
before i crash once more into the unforgiving light
of another **** day.

and so, with each lost second,
i float further into this bittersweet madness,
hoping, somehow, that tonight
i might just find the endlesss sleep
that always eludes my weary soul.