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apollo 3d
why did              i never feel                love
life                      (and) joy                     never came
never give me   this junk                     ever
a choice              makes me uneasy     it never happens
to                         say these things        it takes courage
live                      with honour              to be yourself
just gotta break free...

rest in peace google sheets
apollo Jun 26
mirrors surround me
shards of a self i once believed was my own—
it was just the paint i wore each morning
to cover up the tears behind my eyes.

a magnificent artwork
i lost my true face
looking for the smile that answered first
and not the one that was truly mine

and yet-
that's the problem with mirrors
they are hollow inside
are they really a reflection of you if they distort what's true?
apollo May 22
There is a bus, always moving, rumbling down a road with no clear end. You’re on it—not alone, never alone. Around eight billion others ride with you, packed tight in rows of stories, of breath, of wonder and fatigue.

Some sit quietly, watching the blur of life beyond the windows. Others talk, laugh, sleep, fight, dream. A few, when they get old or tired—when the motion feels too much or too meaningless—they jump off. Their silence lingers in the empty seats.

But as some go, others come. Newborns blink into fluorescent light, unsure of where they are, taught quickly to sit down, buckle up, and wait. "This is how we ride," they're told. "This is what we do."

Some passengers obey. Others unbuckle. They stretch, question, climb the aisles. Some fall off the bus. Some are thrown. The rules were never clear—just handed down, worn smooth by repetition.

At the front of the bus, there’s a screen. Behind it, they say, is the driver. Some believe he’s real—a guide, a maker, the one who started the engine. Others think he’s just a man, not unlike us. And some… don’t think he’s there at all.

The screen is scratched from hands and time. Many have tried to break it—tried to see. They’ve made cracks. Not many. Not deep. But lately, the pounding’s grown louder. The questions sharper. A quiet rebellion of curiosity and desperation.

Some believe the bus is headed somewhere, a place where the ride will make sense. Others think you only get somewhere if you get off—if you leave the ride behind, leap into the unknown. No one can say which belief is true.

And still, the bus moves. Forward? Maybe. Toward what? No one knows.

But the ride continues.

And so do you.
took a bus ride today and I wrote this
apollo Apr 2
love cannot be described by words
through the silence that holds us close
through the soft touch of our fingers
it is described through the way
we give in
to the longing within
apollo Mar 30
A momentary flicker, a dying spark in an infinite darkness.
Searching for a meaning, just a fleeting thought, lost in the void.

If a god existed, it would have given up long ago, weary of our insignificant struggles,
Realising how insignificant he is himself.

It would have abandoned us to the void, leaving us to drift, alone and unmoored,
Adrift in a universe with no purpose, where our screams are drowned out by the emptiness.

Our lives, a brief flash of consciousness, soon to be extinguished,
Leave behind only the faintest whisper of our presence,
a haunting echo that slowly fades into nothingness.
apollo Mar 23
Your lips, a spark that lights the fire,
A flame that burns with endless grace,
Each kiss ignites a fierce desire,
A love that time can’t slow or chase.

In tangled sheets, our hearts collide,
A storm that rages wild and free,
With every breath, we cannot hide,
The passion coursing over us.
apollo Mar 17
You're reeling me close,
A fire's soft embrace,
I drift toward your warmth,
And feel it burn my face.

In the stillness, you type,
While the stars softly weep,
And with every word,
I fall, in love so deep.
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