August
“I’ve written one poem, and my mind has been blank for the rest of the days.”
“Past midnight, when the world is deathly quiet, my hunger sickens me.”
September
“Another year closer to my death. Hours of darkness consume me with my thoughts, yet for once, I felt happy.”
October
“Fourth of October, I bought grapes from the grocery store. I ate each one at home, coffee on the side — and when none were left, tears welled up as I thought: like the grapes, everyone is gone and I am alone.”
November
“November I write and write, and yearn, and grieve
not to anyone in particular,
but to someone familiar,
this gut-wrenching, unattainable, dying star
whom I would take to my grave,
close to my unbeating heart.”
December
“Fifteenth of December. Happiness is temporary, scars are forever, and the only true freedom lies in death.”
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 4:35 AM UTC
August
“I’ve written one poem, and my mind has been blank for the rest of the days.”
“Past midnight, when the world is deathly quiet, my hunger sickens me.”
September
“Another year closer to my death. Hours of darkness consume me with my thoughts, yet for once, I felt happy.”
October
“Fourth of October, I bought grapes from the grocery store. I ate each one at home, coffee on the side — and when none were left, tears welled up as I thought: like the grapes, everyone is gone and I am alone.”
November
“November I write and write, and yearn, and grieve
not to anyone in particular,
but to someone familiar,
this gut-wrenching, unattainable, dying star
whom I would take to my grave,
close to my unbeating heart.”
December
“Fifteenth of December. Happiness is temporary, scars are forever, and the only true freedom lies in death.”
