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there's a balance to be

struck, the tightrope

between creativity and

burnout; a match lit from

both ends and I'm burning

alive.


I don't know when to stop.
Nosy 2d
When you rise, you already know:  
The lab waits, stale and still.  
Same floor, dirt, same click of keys—  
A day measured in dust, not thrill.

Forty hours, earned and owed.  
The hands of clocks don’t tick—they tap.  
Each second held like lab samples—  
Precise, but hollow, neatly stacked.  
You know the price.  
Wear your coat, neat and white.  
Glasses on, hair tied tight.

I check the time,  
Just to be met with nothing new.  
Lunch breaks stretch—too slow, too long—  
Like the day itself drains the soul.

That awful smell,  
Heating samples to a hiss.  
The heat rolls out—  
Burns your limbs, once blissfully unaware.

You finish early. Precision wins—  
But time is a master, not a guide.  
They won't send you home for clarity—  
They only need your hours, not your pride.

The dirt beneath the microscope  
Is cleaner than this worn routine.  
What once was physics, full of light,  
Now quantifies what might have been.

You didn’t light my passion—  
I burned it to the ground.  
Taught me nothing new,  
Expanded only knowledge of life:  
Forty hours a week—  
A dead-end job.

You know the steps before you move.  
Your badge, your desk, your shift, your face.  
You could draw it blind, dream it still—  
Each breath a brace for empty space.

You cry on days you can't explain.  
Too much knowing breaks the soul.  
Routine is a cruel scientist—  
It tests your limits. Marks its toll.

But still, you rise. And still, you go—  
Not for the thrill, but for control.  
If chaos is the only other path,  
Then monotony feels like parole.

I left the lab, but left much more.  
A spark once lit by force and flight  
Now physics haunts, not holds me close—  
A love I lost to measured light.  
Not every passion finds its path,  
But some still shine from deep within.
What killed my love for physics.
Rayan 6d
The morning light is
judgement day.
Like life's lingering memorial to inadequacy,
it is a death determined on slow demise.

Exacerbated exhaustion,
£s pounding your brain and taxing souls.

Bedroom shade, blissful sheets and bold coffee are
barless enclosures,
like spindles
patient for a maiden's finger.
abyss Jun 30
I burn
and I burn
and burn.
Everyone loves it
when I burn for them.
They enjoy the warmth I give.
I burn and I burn,
yet no one burns for me.

Why keep burning then?
The answer is simple:
I don’t know how else to love.
I burn and I burn
until I can’t
anymore.
Some people love gently. I only know how to set myself on fire.
This week, I remembered how to hold things gently-
how to sit in a sunlit room with laughter
and not flinch at the brightness.

I made time.
Not borrowed, not stolen, not carved from guilt,
but real time-
offered with open hands
to people who make me feel like more than a body on a schedule.

There were hours that didn’t apologize for passing,
moments that asked nothing from me but presence.
I gave what I had, and still had something left.
Even joy. Even peace.

This week didn’t ask me to survive it.
It let me belong to it.

And now,
at the edge of it all,
I’m quietly afraid-
that I will look back on these days
from some far-off place
where time slips like water,
and wonder if this was just
a rare breath
before the drowning begins again.
Immortality Jun 13
I can't close my eyes
tears gather.
I can't breathe
the air is stuck.
I can't gulp
my throat is tight.

I try to plant my dream,
but land is
barren

Still, I try.
Even my conscience
mocks me.
It’s that moment when giving up feels easier, everything is against you;
but you can’t, because giving up just isn’t you.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Kalliope Jun 8
Like a broken machine
my mind tries to shut down,
but the cogs keep spinning
round and round.

Completely overheated,
the oils run dry—
you overthink and worry
‘till one day you die.
If to sleep is to know peace,
I'll never sleep again
Kalliope Jun 5
When I was young
I was scared of ghosts,
Now I greet them every night
in the mirror
11 pm
Jamie Jun 3
I want to break
I want to break so I can be put back together
Instead of trying to hold all the pieces together
I want to fall apart
All the pieces falling apart and shattering
And bit by bit
I can put them back together
Those are fairy tales
Some can’t afford to break
I can’t afford to let everyone down
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