The part I am missing…
But why does it feel missing?
Am I not already whole?
Then what do I lack?
For I search for what is already within me
Long imprisoned
in the claws of the Devil
desperate to break free
But what will become of me with it?
Wasn’t this the missing part?
If it was already in me
it was never missing
It was already
in its rightful place
I just needed to find it

And to say, “find yourself a fit woman running laps on your mind –
and catching her breath just means she’s sitting comfortably on
your lap,” is really just a sprint into pleasing the flesh, a race with
no real finish line. And to say you haven’t tasted her in a while,
where one bite makes you relapse – a crack in the glass, it takes two
to tango… but when she starts throwing shade, you start asking
about her love, and where did that perfect tan go.

Maybe I’ve had many partners, but truthfully, most only lived in
my head – my biggest problem was always thinking too far ahead.
A big head, as the women I never touched became intimate in
dreams, yet so intimidating in real life. My insecurity became these
imagined thoughts, and those thoughts made them always fly away.
As my love sickness was a cluster of flu – practicing patience, yet
overthinking until everything failed before it could even start.
A real lack of patience in the heart, and that headache turned into
heartache.

Sure, if I’d asked more of them out, we might have dated – but I
was so out of touch with myself that I felt so outdated. They could
have been less shy, but I was more convinced I wasn’t much of an
impressive guy. Expressive, yes – more direct in invitation, but
never showing up to the party in the end. It isn’t easy for most,
but I felt like I had the most to lose – a heart.

Now I see: I was chasing love as a boy, not building it as a man.
And the truth? It lands heavier when you start by being truthful
with yourself –that’s the only way to fully understand.

I look into the mirror
To search for someone real
And wonder what they see in me—
What do they think I feel?
How do they view my character,
This puppet with no strings?
Do they read the way I move,
The clothing that I wear?
And hear the thoughts I tell myself
Reflected in the glass?
Or are they blurred into refrain,
Caught behind a broken pane?

When I was young, I loved the spark
Of patterns, rules, and numbered things.
A mind that burned to understand—
But not the ache emotion brings.
I felt too much—each win a rush,
Each loss a flood I couldn’t name.
No one taught me how to swim,
So I built walls to block the blame.
I hid, I ran, I shut it down—
Each overflow, a threat to drown.
So I learned to think instead:
Why use my heart? I have a head.

Now, I flinch when they perceive
The good in me, when I succeed.
Their praise feels sharp instead of kind,
As if, somehow, they’ve been deceived.
They cheer, but still I feel exposed—
Each glance reflects what isn’t real.
Their gaze, a scalpel tracing seams;
A fraud I fear they might reveal.
I fit in like a puzzle piece,
Lying face down on the table—
Pressed to match a perfect frame,
Mistaken for the same.

I try to mirror how they feel—
Their warmth, their ease, their grace.
But through the glass it cannot pass
And I reflect a cold embrace.
I reach with words instead of warmth,
A mind that steps where hearts would leap.
They knock, but find a hollow sound—
A depth I’ve buried far too deep.
And as they drift beyond my reach,
I rarely chase, or ask them why.
We part like threads pulled from a seam—
Still woven, but untied.

I waste the hours on the floor,
Scrolling dreams I never start.
The list of things I swore I'd make—
A game, a poem, a work of art.
The sun slips in, then disappears—
I barely blink before it's night.
Another year collects like dust,
And still, no spark will catch alight.
Then I look into the mirror,
My face already wet with tears—
A storm inside I cannot brace,
And watch myself collapse.

We used to float,
Raising our glasses.
The great unknown before us,
Surely great.

Life in its many colours
Filled my senses, and friends were treasures.
Time an illusion, and crying… just to cry.

With your loss,
My shadow grew.
Every shade of paint against the sunlit skies
Greyed, faded—
Dead trees forming a rigid silhouette.

For one to love life so,
Lighter than the morning breeze,
Understanding beyond understanding—

On your knees you pulled the moon near,
You kissed the sun
And found love wherever you went.

As I drag my shackles day after day,
As the moon moves nearer to me,
I cannot see it.
I do not feel the warmth of the sun.
Nor do I embrace love wherever I go.

For it was ordained then
That I would survive you—
Though the weight had not been foretold.

The shadow puts its hand on my shoulder,
A solemn kindness in its grip.
It is time to go,
To endure… again.

Dissect it to its bare essentials,
Systematize the findings,
Assess its quality using the star ratings from external reports,
And organize them into labeled categories.

I sketch jagged lines across the clouds,
Sense and absorb it, let it pass through you,
My control system is finer than a hair,
A crystal eye scans the surroundings for new learning material,
I have neither karma nor a soul, yet my heart, the size of an Adam's apple, radiates warmth,
Is this a glitch in the control center, or is it by design?

I know, I delve into the essence, and still, I can't figure it out,
“Take it as you will”,
Is it black or is it white?
Is the lemon truly sour, is the molasses truly sweet?
My serial number is the very first, but nothing here is mine,
I don't deserve the very best,
I feel like I'm doing well, and yet something's not right,
Am I… not needed?
Or is it just a bug in the code?

I see them, I hear them, I touch them,
Shadows on the periphery, moans and screams, with frost and lava on my fingers,
I'm losing my mind, and even that I divide by ten,
Analyze it,
Justify it,
Seek answers above,
But the God is absent, for my only God is a human.

I beat myself, I consume myself,
My chassis can endure both fire and water,
And yet I don't truly grasp the principle of how the brain works,
Life on Earth and death on the other side,
Am I living? Will I die?
I'm overheating.

Mom, I'm completely in the dark,
What am I supposed to be feeling right now, and how do I support others?
"Cry when you're hurting, smile when you're happy,
Cling to the ones who matter most",
I follow the instructions exactly, but I still don’t get it — and neither do they,
Am I... not needed?
Why does everyone look right through my shell?
Why are they giving me these pills?

The corners of my eyes sting with salt, and my tongue tastes of something bitter,
I'm convulsively gasping for air,
I feel things that others cannot,
Laugh and scream,
Help and ****,
I know now, I know for certain:
It's normal,
It's okay to do more than simply exist,
My lightbulb flickers like a firework of revelation,
My hands instinctively reach for something unattainable,
Seconds remain until the shot,
And with colors now meaningless, I finally behold the fullness of the world.

i saw this prompt somewhere,
asking me what i'd do
if i had nine lives.
and my first thought was—
was i being given a chance
to live as a cat for a while?

sarcastic, of course, it was,
but it really made me think.
so i settled down
and began making a list
of what i'd actually do
if i were to have,
not one, but nine different lives come true.

i believe i'd spend the first
living and experiencing
all forms of art my eyes could pick up:
reading and listening,
watching, looking,
visiting museums, talking to people,
asking the writers what gave birth to their empiricals.

the second, perhaps, i would—
put myself up and forward,
creating the same art
as i hoped i would.
and maybe i'd write
to the length of the night.
i'd create all sorts of felonies,
live somewhere unknown to horizons,
creating my life away.

the third was a confusion.
what did i truly wish to do?
maybe this time, i'd learn
all that there was for me to.
i'd look on and become one
among the smartest people—
to get to know what put them at the top,
and whether it was a life i truly yearned for.

the fourth came easy.
i'd be an artist,
a model or an actor.
i'd climb up high on a pedestal,
look at the faces watching me
from the crowd below,
trying to understand
whether it was really fun
and cut out for me so.

the fifth, i wondered—
what would it be like to live on the roadside,
barely surviving, dying the next day?
i'd want to understand the aches they go through—
those without a home, money, or food—
to perhaps help them better
and make sense of what inspired me to.

the sixth life—
i wanted to spend it being loved,
and being loved by someone
who wouldn't want an other.
just loving, spending my entire existence
there, physically and spiritually,
seeping into one another.
love was it for the sixth.
unknown in the end,
it finished with my sacrifice—
from no one but my lover,
whom i couldn't defend.

the seventh life, then—
i'd hug everyone i come across,
take away their pain:
child-like sorrows, grave depths of despair—
all kinds. and even as i end it,
let it consume me.
i'll have it known that maybe,
this way, the world will be a lighter place to live.
so when i take birth next,
someone could do the same.
and maybe we could share each other's sorrows
and laugh out all the pain.
let it seep through all the shared veins.
and maybe that way,
i'll spend two of my lives together.

eighth—one more to go, and then it’d be over.
so i lived in fear, avoiding getting close enough
to make anyone dear.
i wandered through the nights,
unsure of when i made this choice.
the mornings seemed scary;
i yearned for voices.
i found comfort in the lonely,
slid away slowly,
and let the last life catch on to me—
before i ended it myself,
i know it was lowly.

ninth life. here i was.
and i realized i hadn't chosen the previous three.
someone else made those choices—
who opted, i wondered?
who gave me those experiences i wrote?
suddenly, i realized it was honest:
the past three were lives i never wished to live.

this was perhaps my first.
now, i’m back in the present,
in my twenties,
the past years gone forever.

i don’t know how i spent them,
(i wouldn’t want to remember the forgotten)
but now i realize
all i yearned to do
and the fears i saw coming true.

i’m still here, putting down the list.
i'm going to sleep in tomorrow
and go to my classes the day after.
and i’ll continue,
doing all that i wanted to,
in the nine lives i was offered.

for i could wish,
but i was given just this one.
and i guess i’ll try to live
all of them
in a single one.