I used to think death was when the brain stopped working,
when the heart stopped beating.
But the day I kissed and felt nothing—
I knew I had already died.
Death isn't just physical.
It's the numbness.
It’s loving someone or something
that no longer nurtures your soul.
It feels like burning in flames—
and somehow enjoying the intensity.
Not wanting to be saved.
Yes, I’m burning.
And for the first time,
I feel safe—
because everyone is afraid to come too close.
This is where most people die.
But strangely,
I love to live here.
In this insensibility—
a phase where I’m falling apart,
terribly,
but finally feeling secure.
I wish to stay guarded,
forever.

i imagine people
bundled up in grief
of words that they have carried over years—
of things that could not become theirs
of the beings they could have been,
had the world been a bit easier

pain, so pretty

i see them as bundles,
carrying ropes twisted around their guts,
visibly being mocked by all those
who roam light and agile in their lives
the ones adding to that burden

the grief-added mind
carries us so drifted and quick
almost floating through life
but what of the drowning
that this heart undergoes

having shattered so many times,
it has lost all the hopes
and so it gets filled up to the brim
leaks out, seeps into—
and the skin so tender and bruised,
everything cuts a little too deep

sleep is a cacophony

i think i peeked inside the wiring of my brain
for a couple of seconds today
you know it is like—
there is a hole at the very centre
that has a very solid boundary
the outer layer has got hooks and daggers
and things pinned and across

but what is the worst
is the chains and ropes surrounding it
holding that part in the very middle,
at the very centre
and every time they twist and pull,
it does not hurt
but the ache goes a bit numb

and it feels so numb
that sometimes i want to
drown in burning water,
stand under the coldest shower,
eat molten lava,
or consume ice until my mouth burns
just to feel something—at the very least

and it has existed forever
but on days that are hard
it gets ugly
sears in its loneliness
like a deep hollow
resounding with the echoes
of a whale in the ocean

pain so beautiful
so undeterred, unspoken
a telltale so enchanting
it brings you in, soaks you deep
leaves you ragged,
with nothing to sleep with
except for constant nightmares
or even worse—
the dull ache in your existence

yet pain so pretty
because it makes you feel.

because to be honest,
i did not know where to start
no beginning, then how could it end
what do you mean pain is constant?
but when it heightens,
something in my brain hits just right
and i turn into the next be-****** poet

this time it is a mess of stuff—
like things piled up in the corner of your room
and overlooked for long enough
except one day you are trying to find something in them,
sort of like something to balance you
but instead it triggers you
and you realise you are just lost

it outs me,
and puts me in a spot
one that i oh-so
despise to talk about

Im filled with emotions,
I can no longer speak.
It’s like I’m locked in my own prison,
Emotions struggling to be released.

Within me i am drowning,
But I don my happy face.
An internal war roaring,
Struggling to keep it locked in the safe.

I can not allow myself to loosen yet,
Rarely am I allowed to.
Through the day i make it through,
It’s my happy mask that talks to you.

I wish I can let the feelings out,
As they trickle in.
All day the inside prisoners shout,
Grasping and clawing at my skin.

From time to time, late at night,
Raw words from a song will pierce the wall.
The feelings are flicked on like a light,
surrendering myself to the abyss as I fall.

This user is loosing interest in everything
like tabs left open, forgotten, buffering.
Notifications blink like dying stars,
but none are worth the effort of looking.

Conversations feel like code
written in languages I unlearned.
but mean none of them.

Even the mirror loads too slowly,
and when it does,
the face looks like someone
mid-update,
stuck.

The days autoplay.
The nights glitch.
And somewhere in the background,
I hear the soft hum
of systems shutting down.

The plate sits before me, brimming with light,
Yet I cannot partake in this feast of life.
The hunger is not born of flesh,
But a deep, gnawing void that swallows the soul.

It’s not that I lack—
But I recoil from the feast,
For each bite is a confrontation,
A war within my own skin,
An agonizing surrender to the unknown.

The world, a banquet of joy and color,
Serves me courses of hope and grace,
But I cannot consume what is offered.
Each morsel of love, each chance for joy,
I push away,
As if to touch it would fracture me further,
Unravel what little control I still feign to hold.

I starve not for food,
But for the courage to feast on life,
To swallow what is real,
Without fear that it will choke me,
Without fear that it will swallow me whole.

In the quiet spaces of my mind,
I am a ghost,
Floating above this world I once craved.
I am too numb to reach,
Too paralyzed to feel the warmth of the sun,
And so I exist—
Not living, not dying,
But simply suspended in this vast, unyielding void,
Where every dream is a phantom,
Every hope a cruel illusion,
And I am forever starving,
Yet unable to taste the life I’ve lost.

He never left a single note.
Just rings on wood, the scent of smoke.
A door unlocked a room left bare.
A ghost still sunken in the chair.

The bottle stood, its duty done.
A quiet war that no one won.
No cries for help, no last refrain.
Just heavy air and dried-up pain.

The world still turned the clocks still kept,
No one knew how hard he wept.
And when they asked they swore he laughed
Yet all he left was hollowed glass.

I would describe this feeling as pain,
but it doesn’t quite hurt like being burned.
And it doesn’t feel like being completely incinerated either.
No, it’s a dull ache. A deep feeling of loss.
Even my body doesn’t know how to process it.
Not that my body knows how to process most things.
My stomach is bad at digesting dairy and anger .
My ears don’t interpret conversations very well,
And my tongue can’t stand spice.
Spice burns. A pain I can identify, but can’t tolerate.
Heartbreak aches like a black hole. Cold. Empty.
What was once a burning star has been changed,
Rendered into an all-consuming, lifeless nothing.

Loud head. Silent mouth.
Loud thoughts. Empty words.
Loud pain.
Screaming, deafening pain.
Numbness.