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meryem May 14
My thoughts aren’t really mine,
they were planted inside my mind.

Just like my feelings aren’t mine,
they just follow what’s called right.

Neither is my face mine,
a mixture of all ancestors.

My body also isn’t mine,
it will die and decompose.

Nothing I own belongs to me,
I will lose it all when I die.

And if none of these things is my own,
then,
who am I?
Dylan A May 12
I shouldn’t have opened the box,

because Hope was forced to hope for all evil.


I shouldn’t have checked to see if the cat was dead or alive;

it wasn’t—the hammer didn’t hit—but it starved to death.


I shouldn’t have replaced all my ship’s parts,

now I have two, but the original is still broken.
I've melted between the cracks of time.
Lost and found, dead and prime.
A ghost, a man. My fractured twin.
Collapsing as the light steps in.

I am only real when I can be seen,
Existing as nothing in moments between.
An echo that’s held in quantum breath.
Inevitable, superposed, ego death.

In the quantum rift, I’m free yet bound.
I'm dead but prime, lost and found.
Through a quantum fate, I twist and bend.
Observed, I mend just to break down again.

A visible ghost of a once kneeling king.
In the moment I was seen, I had lost everything.
Outside of perception, I exist in-between.
Fluctuating from the seen into the unseen.

Through one slit I'll grow. The other, decay.
But I am all. In all ways. The blood in my own veins.
Observe me as I am—I expand to retract,
Observing creates realities and I'm never looking back

Do you even truly know? Which "Me" is the true?
The matter that you saw, Or the energy you knew?
I'm an infinite soul, in quantum’s eternal high,
Reduced to a dream, in the gaze of your eye.

© Derek 'Abraxas'
I have no guidence.

Searched on every summit
for some lost elusive cure,
and for the alchemy to make
me feel like I was pure.

Violently, I've torn through
the marrow of all I am,
begging every single deity
I've known for their hand.

I have no peace.

Maybe healing will never surface,
Maybe muffled by the sand.
A doctrine for the hopeful,
Who will never understand.

Wounds have always held
Daggers that were never removed.
What if pain protects the heart
Because it never is renewed?

I have no harmony.

Singing broken hymns can birth
another's hymn of praise.
Unspoken cosmic laws that state
Examples must be made.

I am never truly broken,
I can wish to be in time,
But I remain a quantum sonnet,
That is void of any rhyme.

I have no exit.

Maybe there is grace that lives
Within my wilted plea.
In knowing, I'm exactly
Who I knew I'd always be.

In a life of pulling chains,
Tethered to a hopeless mind.
What is left within a soul,
To see a purpose that's divine,

Without the residue of ash
From embers charring bone?
Without emotions echoes,
That have turned it into stone.

The cold sweat of empathy
For the fellow misbegotten.
Or wihout the twitching nerves
Of a body that is rotten.

I have no dreams.

I cannot find belief in me
For false restoration.
No longer a beggar for
A hollowed-out salvation.

I walk with aching fractures
To a rapture born in rust.
A fate I feel deep in my core,
That all is made of dust.

I have no reasons.

What's the purpose
For this riddle I weave?
Is there truth in what remains,
Or is truth in what will leave?

As I stand, a withered body,
weeping now without a plea.
I am all I ever was,
All I've known I'd ever be.

I have no future.

Seeking embrace of the azure expanse,
A dreamer sought warmth, the value of trance.
With wings of hope, towards the sun he soared,
Seeking a freedom so deeply ignored.

Ambition seen sinister, but yet, of youth's call.
To rise above, and never to fall.
The heavens wept, for they knew his price.
For a flight too close to their own paradise.

The mournful sea watched, as his feathers deveined.
Embracing a dare, courage unrestrained.
A tale not of folly, but of a spirit so free.
A reminder of hope against fragility

In his descent, I see my reflection.
A shared desire of unbridled direction.
Not a tale sinister, nor of scorned flight,
But a hymn to the ones still chasing the light.

♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
Just know, it's not your fault.
No, It's not your fault .
The Mind betrays the heart.
But no, it's not your fault.

It's not like you could know.
Paths you were meant to walk.
All paths will over grow.
Being lost is not your fault.

Your human form stays lost.
The soul will pay no cost.
It's created to bathe in light.
No darkness is your fault.  

Oars ****** you toward a call.
You'll get weak, and you'll stall.
The sea will never calm.
No struggle is your fault.

Know that it's not your fault.
Your heart takes all the shots.
It's running from your mind,
And no, It's not your fault  

For, all will over grow.
The sea will never calm.
And no, it's not your fault.
Just know, it's not your fault.

©

Derek Abraxas

"The Quantum Bound Poet"
With embered wings, I pierce the blackest night,
A solar mass morphing into a black hole.
Each atom in my blood prepares to ignite,
Reflecting the true divine shape of my soul.

In the corridors of my own thought, the senses drown.
The mind painting prisms bleeding photonic rain.
No boundary here to hold me. In moments, I'm crowned.
In this kingdom of chaos, sculpting solace from pain.

I stand before the mirror of my own trembling soul.
A sovereign spark lives, who dares to hope it can heal.
A voice screams, that " One who has shattered his mold,
Transcends the one; fragments of being, each their own whole."

Pulses turn to diamonds, forming as the words on my tongue.
Minutes stretch — now endless lifetimes yet to be discovered.
I taste each shard of feeling that my heart has overcome.
My sorrow and my joy open, remaining uncovered.

My dreams, my faulted mind, like ones we called under-wrought.
Their eyes, constellations, like the ones we used to trust.
Chemicals react, dispersing waves, like songs we forgot.
Solitude and isolation bleed with each melodic gust.

And in the hush of afterglow, I wield my clean knife,
Open up my wounds till they reveal my true hidden name.
And from this crucible of pain, is born a new life.
My infinite flame burns as both the wild and the tame.

Following voices of shadows, divine potential’s own choir.
Their hymns — the portal to my soul yet to be embraced.
Chains bind me to perceptions, but for now, I'm more like fire.
Forging quantum bound waves, binding purpose to my fate.
Asher Graves May 3
In beauty's embrace, majestic with grace

Soothing, yet a lingering sense of sadness filled up the place,

Unwanted thoughts wind up like a haphazardly tied lace

Been alone countless times won't deny

Maybe it'll be over soon, sighs

I did cry, but I won't pry, I must try and try and try, relentlessly, I don't know why?

Something tells me to do so, and no I won't ask any questions, I'm too tired.

My head feels heavy and it feels cold

Yes, I am a reckless fool, but let truth be told,

hold up, behold,

A free soul, got locked up, in a stronghold, due to freefall, did a reroll, felt an unease, faulty threshold, with a default,
Setting.

Yet I thrived on, not with violence, but with a smile on,
Dreams engulfed in darkness, yet persevered and fight on.
Emotions masked, I fight on, a battle of silence, I reckon

I'm a lost soul at a crossroad, with no hope, yet I try on,
I hold my head up high, a bit shy, but I try
To change the narrative, to rewrite my sky.

I see the highs, I see the lows,
Life's a cinematic film, beautifully composed.
It's real though, no retries, no cheats,
A mistake made, a life fades, "Scream!" echoes in the streets.

Skill issue, you say? Perhaps it's true,
The presence of another is a dream I pursue.

Alas, my fumbling technique never ceases to amuse,
Back to solitude, melancholy's muse.

Walking up the road less travelled by, devoid of any gleam,
A haunting daydream, or so it would seem.

No destination, no direction, just endless extremes,
A conflicted response, a ghastly gleam.

Alone through the time, a truth I've known,
Helplessness grips, a silent pathetic moan.

Guilty, vulnerable, yet a soul set free,
I hate to admit it, but I won't concede.

Heartbreaks, anxieties, failures persist,
Giving up is foolishness, not on my list.

Break me, bury me, all for your thrill,
My body may perish, but never will my will.

Intrusive thoughts roam around, Like I’m fallin’ off of a cliff
The desire to bounce back is sharper than you think
I'm not the one who's drowned here man,
I stand alone, like a “Poneglyph”
My spirit untouched, my soul unbound like a monolith

A rowdy spirit, scorned with disdain,
I'll mock you still, throughout the pain.

I choose my role and I define my fate,
Your words, your arrogance, I disrespectfully negate.

In defiance, I speak with a voice loud and clear,
"The path is treacherous, hearts break, I fear."

The soul’s burnin’, seeking a purpose anew,
To burn it all down, tired of feeling blue.

A voice echoes, a spiteful chill,
Fate falters frivolously front of a mortal's will,
The birth of a legend, just like the Hercules’ will

The poem concludes, a profound standstill,
A journey through emotions, in verses that I instill.
                                                                             -Asher Graves
This poem is a reflection of the silent wars we fight within—the chaotic harmony between vulnerability and resilience. It's about walking alone when no one understands, yet refusing to lay down even when everything screams “give up.” I wrote this during a moment of mental fog and emotional exhaustion, where the only clarity came from putting feelings into form.

The piece isn't polished with comfort. It’s jagged and heavy on purpose. Life doesn't come in neat stanzas, and neither does healing. You'll find scattered metaphors, anime references, poetic contradictions, and a stubborn flame that keeps burning—because even in brokenness, there's defiance. Even in solitude, there's meaning.

This is for anyone who’s felt like a background character in their own story, who’s laughed through tears and masked scars with smiles. You're not alone in your silence. This is me screaming back at the void, not to be heard—but to remind myself that I'm still here.

Keep fighting, even if it’s just to prove the silence wrong.

— Asher Graves
Nick May 2
We eat, we sleep, and we pray.
But who do we pray to?
Is it the ones who promise us salvation
but only give us disease, darkness, and blood?
Or promises of hope, love, and flair?

We starve, we wake, and we sacrifice.
But who do we sacrifice for?
For the ones who only take, take, and take,
and give not even a dime in return?
But only death, darkness, and blood.

I look at the heavens and see light,
but not lights of hope or redemption,
only lights made to blind us and bind us—
to show us we are unworthy of them, of the divine,
to make us feel like envying them is a crime.

I search wide and far for a story without any bar,
a story where they were selfless and not so afar,
a story to help us dream and reach the sky—
not act as silent observers of the moonless sky.
But all I hear are hopeless cries of mine.

Who are they to decide what we are, what I am?
Who are they to decide my fate and worth?
Who even are they, when they haven't felt the pain of existence?
only seen the suffering from their lofty thrones afar?
All I see is cruelty and worthless promises, hearts as black as tar.
I have tried to leave my mark–
Pressed my name into the trees,
only for the bark to scar
and swallow my touch.
Spoken into open air,
only for the words to fade
and sink into wind.
Let ink bleed into paper,
only for the page to thin
and crumble to dust.

The world is good at forgetting–
The rivers scatter my reflection,
the mountains shed my step in landslides,
even stars do not pause to mark my loss.
It has watched as I have swirled away
until nothing remained of my shape,
as if to whisper:
you were never really here.

Time is a slow and gentle thief–
Not cruel, not kind,
only certain.

And yet–
Somewhere, the laughter I gave
finds its way back in memory.
Somewhere, the kindness I gave
lives in the hands of another.
And somewhere, the love I gave
spreads unseen beneath the surface–
Like a stone slipping through water,
its ripples never truly gone.
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