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sofia Jun 1
I don’t know why I’m writing this.
You won’t read it.
Maybe I just need to get it out before it eats me alive.

I can’t stop wanting you.
It’s pathetic, I know.
It’s been months.
Time stopped meaning anything when you left.

I still dream about you.
Sometimes I wake up and for a split second,
I forget that you’re gone.
I reach across the bed like an idiot,
and all I find is cold sheets and my own emptiness.

Why won’t you leave me?
Or maybe — why won’t you come back?
I don’t even know which one I want more anymore.

I replay everything.
Every message. Every glance. Every tiny moment.
Looking for the place where I could’ve made you stay.
But there’s nothing. Just the same ending, over and over.
You, gone. Me, still here.

I would ruin myself for you again.
I would break every promise I made to myself.
I would throw away every piece of healing just to feel you one more time.

God, I hate this.
I hate that I love you this much.
I hate that I need you like air I can’t breathe.

I don’t know how to stop.
I don’t even know if I want to.

If you came back tomorrow,
I would open the door.
No questions. No hesitation.
I’d let you in.
I’d let you wreck me all over again.
About the paralysis of heartbreak, when moving on feels impossible and love becomes both a need and a curse.
Erostrer May 31
It burns, it gnaws, it tears away
This passion that, in my heart
Has made its unwanted stay
There are those who say that
To be free of it, there is a way

This way is not the one I chose
And now I mourn my lost repose
Foolishly I fanned the flame
What before had been an ember
Has now become a blaze

This blaze, it grows and grows
For my indulgence is its bellows
And the only way to **** this fire
To turn ashen what still glows
Is to extinguish my desire

This desire, oh this blazing fire
How I wish I could outrun it
But it never seems to tire
Onerous shackle that it is
Pulling me to the abyss
Zywa May 26
When my desire grows

weary and weak, there is hope --


that will nourish it.
Short stories "Gij nu" ("You now", 2016, Griet Op de Beeck), story 'misschien was dat wel echte eenzaamheid meer nog dan geen mensen zien eigen gedachten die niet worden tegengesproken' ('maybe that was real loneliness even more than not seeing people one's own thoughts that are not contradicted'), chapter Two

Collection "Stall"
Cadmus May 23
🍽️

If I enjoy their attention today,
I remind myself of this:

They’ll call a nice dish “a ***** plate”
once they’ve eaten their fill.

Praise turns to pity,
desire to disdain.

The hands that reached for me
will recoil,
as if they never begged
to taste.

So I wear their craving like perfume
fleeting,
never mine to keep.

They were never here for me…
just the feast.
This piece strips away illusion to expose the cruelty of conditional attention. It’s a brutal commentary on how people often glorify what they consume, only to discard it with contempt once their desire is satisfied. A warning to recognize the difference between admiration and appetite.
Ali Hassan May 21
The tongue once lived in sweetest lands,
Where honey dripped like golden sands.
It danced through syrup, soft and wide,
With velvet dreams it could not hide.

Beneath the sky, a sugared sea,
Where flavors danced in harmony.
And every taste, and every sip,
Was joy that melted on the lip

Around it spoke of flavor rare,
Of something rich beyond compare.
“They call it truth,” the voices said,
“Then why’s it left so dark, unsaid?”

The tongue fell still, its sweetness thin,
An itch began to burn within.
“If there is more,” it thought, “I must
Let taste decide what I can trust.”

Curious now, the tongue grew bold,
To chase the myth the whispers told.
With trembling hope, it reached and tried
To sip what others left denied.

But what it found was not delight —
A taste that burned, a wound of bite.
The sugar fled, the silk was torn,
Its buds were seared, then split and torn

The sweetness slipped beyond its reach,
No golden drip to calm or breach.
What once was rich now felt so thin,
As bitterness crept deep within.

It searched again for something sweet,
But found no sugar it could meet.
Its buds, once soft with joy and light,
Now knew but ash and endless night.

The others watched but turned aside,
Their mouths still sweet, their comfort wide.
They offered nothing—not a sound—
Just stayed within their sugared ground.

It whispered low—no choice remained,
To taste the bitter that none had claimed.
Its sweetness gone, the wounds run deep,
Still must it sip—no rest, no sleep
I´ve shed my thoughts
into the silence of nights
nowhere to run,
I´m holding the gun.

I´m the one
trying to outrun,
hosting the hunt,
running at the front.

I´m my own prey,
gasping for the airway,
catching myself at the bay.

I want to be targeted,
not for you to misinterpret
I´d love to witness
my breath quickness,
how you´d hunt me-
then I´d be free.

With every breath I count,
there are few I miscount,
there´s one I´d steal
from you, to heal.
20/4/25
Victoria May 19
I’ll take this panic attack
And drive her car right off the road
Off the bridge, that sinking feeling
About to sleep and not explode
I S A A C May 19
you make me gush like a wound
i am enough in your room
playing tunes, always smooth
i kiss your lies and your truths
i am tough enough to spoon
you remind me of rare jewels
smooth and sharp, hardened heart
i fold under the weight of rules
you make me gush like a wound
i need to touch you soon
my burning desires consuming this roof
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