My soul ached,
ached for something that wasn't there,
fragments of sanity,
or something left,
anything
but my hands just tore through air,
nothing—
nothing—
nothing to hold,
no real thing left to touch.
Was it real?
Time doesn’t tick anymore,
it just rots in the corners,
empty hours I can't fill
with anything that feels real.
faces I know,
but don't
eyes that stare and don’t care, (must they care?)
lips that move,
but nothing comes out.
The stars shine
but I don’t see it.
I stand there waiting
for something to make sense,
but nothing ever does,
nothing will.
I tried to die,
but I just ended up
standing here,
an echo of life
waiting to vanish.
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 1:16 PM UTC
My soul ached,
ached for something that wasn't there,
fragments of sanity,
or something left,
anything
but my hands just tore through air,
nothing—
nothing—
nothing to hold,
no real thing left to touch.
Was it real?
Time doesn’t tick anymore,
it just rots in the corners,
empty hours I can't fill
with anything that feels real.
faces I know,
but don't
eyes that stare and don’t care, (must they care?)
lips that move,
but nothing comes out.
The stars shine
but I don’t see it.
I stand there waiting
for something to make sense,
but nothing ever does,
nothing will.
I tried to die,
but I just ended up
standing here,
an echo of life
waiting to vanish.
Request permission to use this poem