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They argue in threads they barely read,
Just dopamine and capslocked tweets.
No questions asked, no space to try —
PEOPLE READ, NOT TO UNDERSTAND BUT TO REPLY.
© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
The sun comes out loud, like it owns the whole day,
It shines like it’s sure I’ll be okay.
It burns through the curtains, expects me to move —
Like light means life, and I’ve got something to prove.

But the moon doesn’t ask me to rise or perform,
It waits without judgment, calm and warm.
It shows up in the silence, when the world shuts up —
And reminds me that just being here is enough.

There’s peace in the dark when the day is done —
I feel more at home with the moon than the sun.
© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
Limes Carma Jul 13
I had a thought —
it slipped.
A line to speak —
just clipped.

I meant to say
what’s wrong,
but maybe I
came on too strong.

My chest said go,
my mouth said wait.
My throat just held
a heavy weight.

I wrote it down —
then backspaced all.
It felt too weak,
it felt too small.

I wish I could
explain this fear,
but words run dry
when you get near.

So if I stall
or start to shake —
it’s not a game,
it isn’t fake.

It’s just that when
my mind gets loud,
my voice gets lost
inside the crowd.
© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
Limes Carma Jul 12
I bought my peace in silver flakes,
from shadow hands in quiet breaks.
They said it shimmered, said it flew —
but gravity still pulled me through.

I lined the stars on bathroom tile,
called it freedom for a while.
It sparkled like a borrowed sky —
but burned like comets passing by.

I chased the night, I chased the glow,
until the stars fell down below.
And when the morning asked for me —
I left in dreams I’d paid to see.
© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
Limes Carma Jul 11
We all wish to die of old age in our sleep,
But what if my slow death began at 22 and ends at 83?
What if the love I was offered in life was deadly?
I know love might show up with a different face, but that just ain’t it for me.
If it’s not yours, it’ll always pretend to be.
© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
Limes Carma Jul 10
I woke up wired, heart beat fast,
told myself this time’s the last.
Lines on the sink, shame in my head,
texted some lies, stayed in bed.

The crash is gone but not the mess,
some days I still can’t catch my breath.
I stay away from what the old me craves,
and that part is still digging its own grave.

There were nights I almost called it quits —
and if the ceiling of my old apartment was strong enough,
I wouldn’t be writing this.
White lines on the desk
Black lines on my neck
If the ceiling didn’t let
I’d probably be dead


© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
Limes Carma Jul 6
First thing I did was run from the scene,
left the old streets and all they’d seen.
She said goodbye — I froze in place,
then turned before tears showed on my face.

Then came the nights I caved to the haze,
lines on the table, weeks in a daze.
Each hit a way to not recall —
but nothing numbed the fall at all.

I crossed state lines, left all I knew,
wore smiles I borrowed and played them through.
But even then, she stayed inside —
a quiet weight I couldn’t hide.

So I left it all, the past, the place,
the life I built around her trace.
Not to explore the world or start anew,
but to survive a life that ended with you.
© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
Limes Carma Jun 27
You ran to the door like you always did,
no idea what I’d walked out from.
Maybe you waited the nights I was gone —
still hopeful, still sure I’d come.

We played like nothing else mattered at all,
you stayed by the door when I’d leave.
You knew I’d return like I always had —
one of the things I silently grieve.

I don’t know if you’d still know my face,
or if time’s erased what we knew.
Would you still light up if I walked in,
or just stare at me like I’m someone new?

They took you like I never mattered,
like love could just be split in two.
I didn’t leave because I stopped loving —
if it wasn’t for them, I’d still be with you.
© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
Limes Carma Jun 26
I brewed the coffee more for you than for me,
A ritual dressed in honesty.
The mug you left — I held it near,
Like touching it might make you appear.
I wrote you notes you never read,
Then tucked them back beneath my bed.

I set your place, then stared at mine,
As if routine could rewind time.
I’d hum your songs to fill the space,
Mistaking ache for your embrace.
But holding on can blur the view —
I feared what leaving meant was true.

And so today, I break that thread,
Not out of hate, but love instead.
I’ll drink for one, I’ll clear your cup —
It’s not moving on, it’s waking up.
© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma

— The End —