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Cira 3d
The loom I once wove,
Was an imagery I drove,
It was never meant to be sealed,
I took charge and felt reeled,

This thread woven was misguided,
But now it had abided,
What was felt was the past,
A chapter that never meant to last,

Sometimes when you tug it too hard,
You pull out the wrong cards,
Sometimes it tangles,
But it wasn't supposed to dangle,

It was stitched to a lesson,
Not a different kind of maven,
I searched for heaven in his smile,
But it was just a moment's trial.

Tis time I big goodbye,
With a found understanding frogeyed,
I whisper "thank you" for this loom,
A kin the next blume.
What can I say the thoughts are thawed away
lingering mistakes.  

burns my heart  
falling apart  
okay  
blame me  misfortunes  

Hold my weight
Steal my back  
Waiting for everything

"If I offer myself as token, I stay comfortably broken"
I thought it make it more direct while adding some imagery to self reflect
Hope y'all enjoy.
With softly spoken words a warm voice was heard .  

The damage the rage will now all be released from its cage.

Go
you are free
you always thanked me for everything even on the worst of times your tears turned into mine like the cosmos we are combined.

  With the warm touch of love I felt above the grief  release from this absent vessel in me for now I am fully complete from this defeat that always pummeled me.

Looking into the eyes of life itself I see the image of torture stress and falling apart like a mess.

I simply ask don't you know that you are the best?  

With a smile life said "that's what makes us mend to this hurtful trend. A true sacrifice a true friend.
Written in 2023.
I  never clean my heart, I got used to tearing things apart, abstract emotions make the commotions passionate anger passionate sadness passionate madness

Passionate art passionate hearts.  

I  never clean my heart, I got used to tearing things apart,
For you. If it meant my life filled with misery just for a moment of joy in your life I'll happily live in misery
I'm changing ways changing days I'm changing the current waves
Whats in your eyes is the salt i  cry when we see life splitting us like cleaning dust we wont render to stay and rust .just know missing you is be coming dajavoo the visions of you keep me glued knowing I cant be include. What a life of faith made people refuse what they say and may until this day but for me you are my ways with the garden of rays never ending days that make me look forward to say acceptance creates perfection in all of ways giving them the perfect haze of the modest way giving me direction leans my days with the softest rain I may now happily drain..
Hugs. You matter!
On the first day of the fifth month,
day one of the second third- the first quarter, of the start of the third mellinieum.

Still, I dwell here, thinking back and fourth- reflecting on all the experience.
This is my  final creation,
 beneath this ceiling,
Within these walls,
with this recording of the soul,
curated and confessed privately for,
The few things that I need you to know, are to be documented here

From thought to word and now digital mark,
the instinct of reason and rhyme-
how one’s truth informs each headless heart,
While another's, every heartless mind.
The two years that you’ve known me, have made up the decade’s end ,
the ten years in which I’ve faught to skip
over me & my past’s relationship-
To retain the hope,
Doubtlessness’s equipped,
to embrace me as I lose the grip, that,
Just like the silhouetted shadow’s tip,
I leave here.
   I leave behind.
        I leave

& wont return.

You know things about who I am, that no one else might understand
From how I think and feel and speak,
To fears that make me truly weak,
My disordered mind and damaged bones,
How the music might hold me, secure in its tones.
But to give up and in uncertainty's dismay, not to forget or out loud to say- these words which are, in a way, a goodbye; immortalized here and then within the minds eye, they enter your fortress's cerebral,  citadel,
And despite all we are, still achieve our best hell (as a good life).

Evil me and good for you,
With kindness, I extrapolate
Patient virtue.
free verse letter to Dr. Graff
Leave when the sky is loud but the sidewalk is quiet.
When the door clicks shut like it’s keeping a secret,
don’t flinch.
Let your hands hang heavy,
the silence has its own grip.

Take only what fits in your chest,
you’ll be shocked what doesn’t.
Use only what won’t puncture your lungs.
(Even breath can betray you.)

Don’t check the mirror.
It lies loudest when you’re quiet.

If you must cry, do it in motion.
Stillness makes grief cocky,
then it hands you a mirror labeled “proof”
and waits.

Let the memory bruise.
Don’t label it.
Names are spells.

Closure’s a mirage
that waves from the distance
and never once turns around.

When the day feels unbearable,
bear it.
Not because you’re strong—
because you’re stubborn
and still here.

By month three,
his name will taste like static.
By month six,
you’ll forget the exact color of his laugh.
And by month twelve—
you’ll mistake the whole thing for a metaphor.

You’ll almost be right.
But even metaphors
break skin.
Memory crusts,
but it never closes.
for when you finally go and don't look back
Lalit Kumar May 13
No regrets…
about the paragraphs I sent.

I’ve long accepted that not every sentence lands gently.
Some come off too bare.
Others, far too heavy.
But I still let them go—
Maybe because I needed to hear them myself.

Each paragraph was a pause between heartbeats.
Each one…
a letter I refused to leave unwritten.

There were long texts—
some confessed I was in love.
Some whispered I’m hurt.
Others begged for clarity—
even knowing it might never come.
Some said, “I’m still trying.”
Others… “I’m giving up.”
Even when it tore something in me.

But I kept writing.
Because even silence deserves something to speak to.

Those words weren’t always meant for replies.
They weren’t written for validation.
Sometimes…
they were just a lifeline to myself.
A way to hold on
when everything else was falling apart.

And no,
I don’t regret a single one.
Because in a world where so much remains unsaid,
those paragraphs—
they were my way of healing.
My way of screaming without making a sound.
My way of remembering that I felt something.
That I tried.
That I didn’t shut down completely.

So no...
No regrets about the paragraphs I sent.
They saved me more than anyone ever will know.
(A Monologue for Healing & Closure)
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