I wish to be
Gone with the wind,
Swept into oblivion,
Carried by ocean waves,
Graveled into the earth,
Until I am nothing—
And maybe that’s enough.

The voice of silence cradles me,
Its emptiness louder than their shouts,
The embrace of a shadow
Softer than hands that never reached.

A fatalist—
A dying star—
Collapsing inward,
Not with brilliance, but with a quiet sigh.
There’s no light
On the other side of the tunnel,
Only echoes of footsteps
I was too afraid to take.

Hope flickers—
Not for salvation,
But for rest without remorse,
For sleep untouched by dreams.

Flowers fade slowly
In dewy spring fields—
Should I care for them,
When they bloom for a world
That never cared for me?

In a place
Where my voice dissolves into dust,
Where even shadows forget my name,
I wonder—
Is disappearing an act of loss,
Or simply a return
To where I belonged all along?