With the polar fire on;
I can catch me onto the muse of bliss.
And threads of words get slips;
with no intention of showing my ****
just to enjoy the moments’ chills.
When it spirals downwards the stairways;
Mother kinds me with lulls.
Is it necessary that I need to do this fuss?
Ain’t I became the normies lulz?!
I just lit my wills, my mind thinks;
Juices flowing on the paper has no more stirs.
But I’ve seen this to care less, cuz I know it eventually hits.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 3:46 AM UTC
With the polar fire on;
I can catch me onto the muse of bliss.
And threads of words get slips;
with no intention of showing my ****
just to enjoy the moments’ chills.
When it spirals downwards the stairways;
Mother kinds me with lulls.
Is it necessary that I need to do this fuss?
Ain’t I became the normies lulz?!
I just lit my wills, my mind thinks;
Juices flowing on the paper has no more stirs.
But I’ve seen this to care less, cuz I know it eventually hits.
This kind of depicts my Bipolar Type 2 Disorder and my mother on the downstairs is the only one who cares me(maybe I'm wrong or this is my notion at the moment) since my father and grandpa moved on.
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