Moments of love feel almost medical—
but my patience for it is cold, clinical.
I never meant to overdose, just chasing
comfort in a heavy dose of someone new,
to help me cope.

I try to build a house from broken pieces—
too many to count. I am the empty echo
of a heart still full, but far too loud
to be heard.

Echo...
  Echoes
     fall between the silence of our words,
two awkward breaths apart—trying
to keep it innocent, just as friends,
while our primal skins just want to skip
to the part of just having ***.

It’s the risk of falling in love—
that makes us stumble near the edge.
It’s beautiful. It’s ******* stupid.
It hurts. It’s love.
Whether it finds you first, as the one
you need— or shows up last, as the one
you never really wanted.

Sinking tears –

 feelings don’t fall,
  they crash
   like glass hearts
    meeting pavement.

Your chest?
 A sunken place.
  No bra strap to hold it up –
   just white linen,
    innocent for a moment,
      until it slips
       in front of eyes
       like mirrors
        reflecting
         every scar
          painted on your skin.


Sandcastle kisses,
 built soft –
   fragile –
     on lips that no longer
       believe in forever.

Yet you speak
 like royalty,
   saying boldly:
    “Love me for what I am –
     not just who you think I’ve been.”

Not a princess.
 Not a saviour.
  A mess.
   A wreck.
    A fallen queen.

Wearing her cracked gold crown
 like a forgotten joke –
   that still makes your heart ache
     when it returns
      in the quiet between memories.



Bones for time –
 you pick at every hour
   like it owes you something.
    Tick.
      Tick.
        Snap!

The clock breaks
   where your mind does.

You may live in the day,
   but you breathe
     in the night.

Freer beneath moonlight,
  where shadows stop asking questions –
   and silence
    finally listens.

i remember
a memory —
it isn't mine.
someone else's.

being the kid we used to be
(yes, i'm writing it in their pov)
we drank lemonade under the summer sun,
watched the bulb in the sky brighten,
heard the promises of forever
where no voice resonated.

echoes of my woes
learned to yearn within these walls.

it's a contrast: sweet, distant, aching.
have you ever heard of feeling nothing —
like the silence after chaos,
a void so deep,
there seems to be nothing it's composed of at all?
an absence that has screamed louder since its presence.

i listen to skyfall as i write,
and no, the sky hasn't fallen —
but it seems it would have felt better if it did.
a way to express what i feel deep inside,
since the breaking.

there are regrets.
like a flower blooms under the sun,
my regret bloomed under the skin of love,
whispered between lines,
composed of all the maybes it could have been —
the ideas, the fantasies,
versions of you that never came to just be.

perhaps i'd dreamt different —
not of someone,
but of how things seemed to me.

but it's nighttime, and i sit,
and like a building collapsing, i think —
stars falling, heavens opening, illusions crashing,
my heart strengthening.
it rubs painfully against the chest — or so.
i wish it hurt just a little bit more,
for i feel it tends to lack intensity.

how you simply waved a goodbye —
i felt it like waves in the sea.
yours was late, brief —
mine drowned, delivered me to the ending.

i have my window open.
i'll try to describe the night sky.
it still seems impossible,
like it did that night.

the stars — they watched me silently.
maybe they witnessed the fall as well.
and then i wondered —
did i even know it all that well?

maybe they were the lovers who never made it home.
maybe they were the parallels to what was meant to be alone.
i kinda hoped it'd be one way —
either you'd become a star, or me, or us together.
and whoever remained would have watched it
as we grew old together.

alas, what remains of it now?
the memories, the hauntings —
are they simply the nothings in between the heavier things?

wave after wave,
they take me with them,
bring me back
to where i began.

we were kids once,
with lemonade hearts —
not the sugary kind,
but the one filled with zest and a spark.

the sky remembers all that i've forgotten.
the same track on repeat —
i wish i'd heard it the night that brought me to hit rock bottom.

i want to write and write and write
and let it devour you and me
and all the eyes that ponder over these words whole.

for that nothing
felt like everything for a moment.

and i can't believe
you missed out
on becoming the lovers —
the ones i dreamt for us to be.



that was indeed just the end, then.

like the sounds of tires on gravel
when the track twists just right —
hold—wait—stop—
i need to catch up to my memories.
but what of all the ones you left with?
bled into them: the last gaze, the lasting wounds.
oh, look — it crumbled.

had you promised to stay
and followed it through,
i'd have torn the sky apart
with bare hands,
set ablaze all those who came in our path.
but alas, easy way out —
i saw nothing (that was enough then),
never saw beyond you
(but now i see all of you).

and i shall wash away,
off the shore, at the edge of the boat.
i shall let go and watch.
you've slipped from my hands
like dust in between fingers.
the sandglass broke,
so did the beats at which my heart spoke.
i wish you the best.
i shall hope you find rest
in places that aren't filled with me.

it's a closure,
it's my closure —
turns out,
that's all i've ever seeked.

Darling, you are the trail of salty cheeks and all the sin that reeks.
You cried after your very first kiss—the kind that tasted like lies,
the kind that convinced you it might last. But lust? Lust is just
deceit in disguise— a beautiful trick of the mouth. You tried to
overstep the world, but stubbed your toe against life’s edge,
pushing harder than you were ever meant to move. And still,
no matter how many nightmares rip through your sleep, the
bed stays soft. And indifferent.

You wrapped all your dreams in an old cloth, thinking maybe
passion—true passion—could burn hotter than any of them. Your
love is precious, nearly pure. But the purest intent rarely carries
you far. It only cuts deeper. And the purest scars are always the
ones left by trying to love right— and too hard.

The days vanish too quickly beneath passion’s flame. The lame
try to stand tall. The insomniac finds the courage to dream again.
And I— I wear my faith like a badge, only to have it thrown back
in my face.

Still, we do what we must. We put on that brave face. We face
the morning. We press on. Because that’s what love leaves behind—
something unfinished, something heavy, something we wear like
the skin on our face.

"O, you who march toward hell, embrace death—it is your only chance to escape alive.
Oh, you are oblivious to hope, beware—you stand on the brink of losing it forever.
Oh, you lingering at the edges of oblivion, existence is no game of hide-and-seek—find yourselves before you vanish.
You who arrive here know you are already among the departed. Calm your fears, for the worst has yet to come.
O, you who weep for the past, dry your tears. The past was once the present, but the future… the future will never be."

Body:

“The thing is—you all can never compete with me.
I came to be when he no longer craved to be him.
I was forged as reminder, a warning:
That the fall would be brutal if he slipped even an inch.
But he stood tall, brimming with will and flame.
Now look at what you’ve all done to him.”

The body cries in agony.
The pain went away—
But the scars never did.

Mind:

“The boy was prepared, but green—
He pulled through, yes, but it cost him everything.
And now you boast of being unbroken?
It was I who inhaled the fumes,
Took in the blades of thought,
Endured the bruises that whispered ruin beneath the skin.
While you remained, stagnant and crude—
A venom sapping every ounce of his fortitude.
Like a Geist twined with Grue,
I was meant to imagine, to narrate, to survive and renew.
But your pride will drown us in this undertow.
You act like this is all a game?
No wonder they gave you the role they did.”

The mind counters, fire in its breath.
The mental quivers with angst.
The memories went away—
But the scars never did.

Spirit:

“Me? I was never told to share—only to care.
Maybe I came too late.
I always prayed for our fair,
But the universe doesn’t barter in balance.
It demands variation, disruption,
To witness, to scatter, to shimmer through us.
It hums a silence so vast it aches—
Searching for vessels to cradle its flair.
It has no morality, no mercy,
Only the echo of what it wills.
What we do is all it ever notices.
We are its muse,
Dancing to a symphony that stretches beyond the stars.”

The Spirit spoke, and silence fell.
The body and mind, though bruised and bitter,
Rekindled their uneasy affair.
But the Spirit wept—not out of pain,
But for the truth laid bare.

It was a dilemma no one could deny.
The tune was silent—
Yet louder than ever.
An unheard melody drifting from afar.
A Symphony of Scars.

                                                              -Asher Graves

We met at the edge of a battlefield,
Hearts armored, but fingers reaching.
The silence between us was thunder,
Louder than all the things we weren’t teaching.

You said, “Let’s meet in the middle,”—but where?
Between your fire and my sea,
Between your fists and my folded wings,
Between the storm and what’s left of me?

I offered softness—you saw it as slight.
You gave control—called it love, called it right.
But what of the bruises we call boundaries?
What of the nights I cried out of sight?

A room with two chairs still leaves one cold,
When one keeps shrinking to fit the mold.
I bent till I broke, whispering “peace,”
But my voice became ash, my breath a lease.

You carved your truth in unyielding stone,
I scribbled mine in skin and bone.

Now I sit in the echo, quiet and raw,
Wondering if “halfway” ever kept the law
Of hearts that beat with uneven might
Or if we both just lost the fight.

So I ask, not in bitterness, but in ache,
Not in anger, but for memory’s sake:
Is there actually enough room for compromise,
When one soul drowns and the other survives?

In the silence where you once breathed, I wait,
As shadows of you haunt every quiet place.
The sun, it rises, but feels too late,
And my heart, like a shattered glass, loses grace.

The threads of laughter we spun with care
Now unravel into tears, slow and raw.
Your whispered promises linger in the air,
But they crumble like leaves in autumn's maw.

How can I hold you in memories alone,
When each thought of you is a knife, a thorn?
In the ruins of us, I stand alone,
A broken soul, a heart worn and torn.

If I could keep you, just one last embrace,
Maybe this sorrow would dare to part.
But now all I have is this hollow space,
Where you once lived—deep in my heart.