You weren't supposed to do that
There were rules, guidelines
You can't just waltz in here
And break every word
No
You were given instructions
How to handle with care
There were expectations
You agreed before entering
Yet
You didn't just trash the place
You left devastation, a mess
Breaking every piece, every rule
You weren't supposed to break me

—a poetic short

The world had ended a thousand times,
not with bombs or fire,
but in the quiet way hope fades.

And yet here he was—
a lone figure sitting on a wooden bench,
where the sea whispered to the shore like a tired lover returning home.

The wind was soft… like it knew his name.
It danced through his long, unkempt hair,
lifting strands as if trying to remind him
he was still alive.

The sun didn’t shout from the sky—
it leaned gently from the East,
painting the air gold,
turning every dust particle into a drifting crystal.
A silent snowfall of light.

Flowers bloomed wildly beside the stone road.
They weren’t perfect.
Some petals torn by wind,
some bent with age—
but they lived without apology.

He didn’t cry.
There were no tears left.
Only numb eyes that watched beauty pass
without reaching out.

Then he saw her—
not in flesh,
but in the dust-light.

A girl with eyes like forgotten songs,
running barefoot in the gold haze,
laughing, spinning—
just like she used to,
or maybe never did.

She waved.
Smiled.

And slowly, she broke into golden glitter.
Like she had become part of the sun itself,
leaving only warmth
and the ache of something that almost stayed.

The wind stilled.

And he whispered,
“You were never mine to keep…
but you were mine to remember.”

The reel would spin again tomorrow.
But for now—
he stayed.
Just a man, on a bench,
with the sea in front of him,
and the ghost of love in the wind.

Is it all too much when I ask for nothing?
Just for you to say 'hi' in the halls,
And ask if I'm okay when I'm crying in the corner,
But it's all too much for you.

Is it all too much when I say a word?
Just one single word about myself,
And even when the words are ones you should care about,
It's all too much for you.

Is it all too much when I hang around?
Just to be there and not be lonely-stricken like I am,
And have someone to keep me accountable,
But it's all too much for you

Because even when I'm sad, and down,
Even when I stay up late for your wallows,
Even when I need to rant because then I'll scream,
And I listen to all of your creations without a second thought.
Even when I'm just there; silent, invisible,
You'll still push me out.

I know that I'm weird, a mess—different,
But so are you, and that's what makes us fit.
But now you glare at me from down the hall,
So I'm sorry this can't mend,
But that's alright with you, isn't it?

My body is a locked display

In a museum no one walks through.

Glass walls, warnings not to touch—

No map, no key, no clue.

My voice is a candle in a wind tunnel,
Flickering, fighting to stay lit.

Even when I bleed in metaphors,

They call it "just teenage ****."

I don’t wear scars like stories,

I hide them like shameful art—

Little tally marks of silence

Etched deep into my skin and heart.

I’m not broken—I’m unfinished.

A sketch left out in the rain.

Dripping lines and missing pieces,

A name forgotten, a frame of pain.

No mother here—just a woman

Who counts my failures with her eyes.
Sharp tongue, cold hands, fake smiles,
Every “what’s wrong with you?” a knife.

My dad?
He's a ghost with a phone.

Scrolls past birthdays like spam.

He only shows up in my nightmares,

And even there, he never gives a ****.

I eat dinner with silence.

Sleep under a roof but not a home.

The walls here echo insults,

And still I face it all alone.

I laugh in the right places,

Say “I’m just tired”like a chant.

But my wrists hum when the house goes quiet,

And I dream of “no more” when I can’t.

No one checks the corners

Where I fold myself at night.

They just praise me for being quiet,

For staying out of sight.

I don’t cry—I leak slowly,

Like a pipe left to rust and split.

This isn’t sadness, it’s erosion.

And I’m disappearing bit by bit.

The arsonist burned everything to ash.
He’d already been hurt in the past.
Due to his fear and lack of cheer,
He’d burn the world down,
Back to the ground.
He’d never let anyone touch him,
Their fingers would be set aflame.
Who needs companionship?
The arsonist thought everyone was the same.
They’d all burn him,
So he’d burn them first.
They’d all hurt him,
So he’d make sure he’s the worst.
So no one will bother,
As he pours the kerosene.
He lights the match,
Stares at the flame,
Wishing that his heart could take the pain.
She left him for another guy,
And he always wondered why,
She betrayed him after he had promised his life,
And stabbed him in the back with a knife.
He flicked the flame into the fuel.
Heard the symphony of crackling.
He’d take the whole world with him,
As it all burned down, he was cackling.

Sharp pain is my life
It spirals and turns
Twisting into knots so complex that only the darkness can be held.
We learn and we love and we live
In a broken world where sorry doesn’t mean I care, and I love you doesn’t mean I’ll stay.
We’re sitting ducks,
Bound to fall from the sky in a shower of faith
And drop faster than air
And smaller than life.
The pain is a full throb,
An ache from a far away life
Past the barriers I’ve built around my stone raging heart.
These walls seem to live and to flow and to breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.

Let your mind and soul collide in a moment of silence where only the crickets will chirp.

For why would you sing in a long broken world.
Why would you swim in a soft little desert?
Why would you fly in a cage made of concrete.

How can we soar without any wings
How can we dream without any snores

What has this world come to, to feel so alone, in a world overpacked, with rooms overfilling.
Yet each one has a heart with a cage made from steel, and the barriers too high to ever break free from.

Farewell me to a place where dreams die, and lay me down, and forever I’ll cry.

But why would you cry in a heaven made perfect?