#existentialcrisis
Probably at a strange, helpless stage in life,
Trying hard to mend the strife.
Feels like being lost in a cage,
With a heart yielding unlimited rage.
Lost in oblivion, starting to self-doubt,
Wondering: am I chasing clout?
So I throw up my fist,
In a hope to comprehend life’s gist.
Talk to me in signs and prayers,
So I know my paths are aligned and I can understand the layers.
~RitzWrites 🌹
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 10:01 AM UTC
I was in the kitchen.
cleaning plates,
washing bottles.
Three days
since my child went to school.
Her lunchbox
still unopened.
Still waiting.
When I opened it
the smell arrived first—
something old,
left behind.
Tiny worms
moving through crumbs
of unfinished food.
I watched them
and thought:
This is how it happens.
Quietly.
Between mornings.
I saw myself there—
inside the lunchbox,
kept,
forgotten,
still warm enough
for life to continue.
No one to clean me.
No one to notice
the slow turning.
It is time again
for her to go to school.
Another morning.
Another rush.
I wiped the box
with a rug.
Opened the tap.
Washed.
Poured the liquid
over what remained.
The smell stayed
on my hands.
Even after soap.
Even after water.
As if care
never really ends—
it only moves
from one container
to another.
As if
This is what I am becoming.
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 1:01 AM UTC
What does it make me
when I can no longer recognize
the blue of the sky?
No longer realize
my own shortcomings?
Epitome of delinquency
though I keep hopes
even in the bleakest of minds.
Ought to be fate's best joke,
one never weary
of repetition.
God's favourite miscreation
yet a miscreant for humanity.
Lawlessness galore and my heart
remains a relic
of dereliction.
Conveniency it is,
since everyone desires the same.
Mock horror and stupid mind games-
wine doesn't wait for my rehabilitation
but neither does melancholy
that awaits the end of my time,
whether with a scythe
or wilting flowers,
I know not.
Dec 10, 2025
Dec 10, 2025 at 10:45 AM UTC
Does a cactus understand it’s prickly?
Does a pencil know it’s writing lines?
Does a sock realize it’s being worn,
Does a teapot know it’s boiling over?
Does a cloud understand it’s floating by?
Does a brush realize it’s painting strokes?
Does a coin feel its journey in someone’s pocket,
Does a door know it’s opening or closing?
Does a match know it’s sparking flame?
Does a pebble realize it’s part of the path?
Does a river know it’s always moving,
or does it simply follow the current,
without thought,
just being?
Maybe it’s the not knowing
that makes us move,
that makes us be,
each moment unfolding
without question.
or maybe its 3:16 a.m. and I’m just going crazy
Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 5:49 AM UTC
In a brief squeeze, my chest _wheezed_—
there goes my heart, falling out of itself,
into another rhyme, into another line.
Queue me up for feeling less than myself,
lost in being so lost.
Letting go of old grievances just to make
room for new ones today.
“I’m not okay”—
but I won’t say it, because you MAYBE
won’t think of me the same.
Sometimes I’m determined, other times,
indulgent. I look like I’ve got it together,
but beneath the surface,
_I’m exhausted_—
completely out of order.
_Struggling. Sweating._
But short on words to explain what’s wrong.
I’d be seen as too much for speaking my
pain aloud— but pain is always louder
when it’s silent.
So I speak now for those who are just like
I am.
__We are We__:
navigating identity crises in these
stretched-out teen years of our twenties.
We are plenty— and still enough to
surround each other in love that counts,
instead of letting life count us down
or count us out. We will rise. __Together.__
Jun 21, 2025
Jun 21, 2025 at 3:40 PM UTC
Circle CirCle
In
Circle circle
(At the centre Centre
The Centre Centre )
No at the FoCus
At FoCus
focus focus
.......
Or at the fence
Yes maybe
The fence
The fence
Fence maybe at it
No at the corner
Yes Corner -
The corner
The corner ?
The Corner
Where ?
.....
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Where is it ?
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Maybe
In
Circle CirCle
And
Circle CirCle
Yes where is it
Where is he
Where is me
Where am I
Why I am here
Why why
Why
At the centre
Why am In a ..
Jun 20, 2025
Jun 20, 2025 at 5:17 AM UTC
Pip
Permanently imprisoned, Peter
The generation aren’t suffering anxiety
They are trapped as Peter Pan
With the ever increasing house prices, the lack of good jobs, the inability to form relationships.
We left our kids stuck, never able to grow up, so they rot, became more unfulfilled.
Imprisoned as a child.
Lack of hope, regression into computer games,
Fake achievement, never seeing a friend.
Trapped at mom and daddy's, enjoying a house price rise and a pension.
Knowing on an Asda salary their best hope of owning a house
Is to mortgage themselves to the point coffee is too much.
A holiday a dream, travel done after uni, not later.
And retirement at 75, ready for a care home.
Odd winner getting graduate jobs and escaping as Wendy birds.
If that was your life, wouldn’t you be depressed?
Score.
On PIP.
They finally get a house — mom and dad die, if they avoid a care home.
The American dream at 65 — homeowners, no hard work.
But not killing yourself before mom and dad
With **** drink, or a rope.
Even a car, boy to see his friends — with insurance is too much to ask unless mom and dad help.
Three years at university — that being out on license.
Mom and dad need a care home, it will all be taken away.
Ironically being orphaned at 40 is winning.
Take another spliff, try to not look forward.
You will lose your PIP, have your last bit of freedom taken.
Oliver's son is still asleep on the sofa.
The only way to get a house
Is to get a baby when you’re not ready.
Hope the state gives you one.
Enjoy the poetry.
This generation doesn’t have Charles Dickens.
The beauty being made into delicate snowflakes,
To be crushed under Jackboots of a failed system.
Only the old work-from-home people don’t have to worry about the snow.
You don’t get a waterproof house as you walk to work.
Child unable to build even a snowman, let alone a life,
While mom can’t see beauty in a snowflake.
From their house, tax you to pay for their pension.
To envy mom's frozen tears, leaving no trail to tell of the suffering.
Of course PIP is gone.
Your low wage is the old greatness gift.
If you get a snow shovel, food, you might make your own path.
But I’ve Deliveroo food.
I don’t want to go out there in my boots.
I will catch a cold or COVID.
It’s number 9.
Close the gate behind you.
You step off the path — 3 stars.
Think about that.
I enjoy my meal.
Don’t ask for more.
Oliver sings and dances on West End now.
No dancing in my conscience for you asking for more, sir.
Bing bing — one delivery of gruel.
Get walking.
Time for sale.
Don’t eat my gruel.
Better be warm and delivered with a smile.
A second 3 star — you are on the sofa.
Hope mom got nice house.
Good news — it’s Oliver’s house.
Wasn’t he fortunate to inherit so much.
Now Charles wears a crown,
Doesn’t use a weapon of pen and ink.
No how dare u ask me for more
I lost my free tv license I will have u know
God snowflakes how much is the wagu today
Not frozen wagu I don’t like to defrost
How was job search son ? Find anything?
Well you’re only young me at 36
May 11, 2025
May 11, 2025 at 9:18 PM UTC
Hey There!!
Calm and collected! You sure?
Look at you—
All humble and fake.
Is that all it takes
To be a human?
Too naïve and fragile,
Yet you struggle and survive.
You sure this is the right way to thrive?
Don’t be arrogant,
Think of a solution,
Battle your demons and
Don’t act impulsive…
...
But where’s the fun in that?
You think and think and think, and come up with that?
Is it your stomach grumbling, or
Is it your brain sighing?
Come on, don’t "think" now.
I’ll give you the answer—
The pleasure is all mine.
I was there,
Filled with compassion, adoring your design.
While you were a little boy,
You looked ferocious. You were determined!
Twenty years later,
You feel all worthless.
All you do is whine.
Where is the charisma?
Where is the shine?
It pains me to tell you this,
But we are running out of time.
Give me the control, and
Wait for my sign.
I promise,
Your presence won’t ever be ridiculed,
Your eminence will never be outshined.
Don’t ridicule me with such flattery.
Won’t you listen to me, your majesty?
Sure, you feel sad and shattered,
But wouldn’t you rather be this way?
Mistaking growth for tragedy,
They say:
Relinquish your heart from mockery.
Mayday—
Frightening is your disgraceful savagery!
Stop with the excuse,
Don’t loosen the noose.
You want a better life?
Just hop in and pursue!
Sure, what he says is tempting,
But I’d rather be here, presenting
To you,
The answer to your pain and resentment.
You shouldn’t be here lamenting.
Mark my words and heed what I say.
Don’t listen to that coward—
Here, let me make your way.
It’s bound to be suspenseful.
It’s bound to be cruel.
Don’t look at me like that—
You know it all too well.
I’m the feeling you long lost,
Yet you never gave up on trust.
I’m Hope,
The miraculous outburst.
Life is tough,
Not a whack-a-mole game.
I hope you understand:
Listening to him is just in vain.
Now, don’t accuse me of temptation—
It’s my very nature!
Can’t call it quits now, can I?
I guess I should show some determination.
I was born at the dawn of creation.
To put it simply:
Would you rather choose me and feel this soothing sensation,
Or
Choose him and relive all those dreadful accusations?
The decision is for you to make.
I’m just as important as he is.
I put in all my stake.
And you,
You are pretty mean to me, but I respect you for that.
If it wasn’t for you, I’d have gone, “Boom” Splat!
It’s cause with you comes the hardship,
And with you comes the wrath.
People get frustrated,
Desperate to look for a path.
The look on their face and the pressure on the back—
How can I miss such delicacy?
Oh! How amusing is that!
You want me to move away?
Na-uh, I ain’t doin’ that!
Making a mockery of your own kind?
Stalemating me?
Just so you can outshine?
That’s some pretty ***** trick you got up your sleeve.
Yet you go around accusing me of being a thief.
Unreasonable, isn’t it?
When he secures something,
When he gets a win—
You float like a butterfly.
You become the limelight.
You become “the thing.”
You take away the credit,
You took away everything!
But when he gets down—
Tarnished, hopeless, and doing everything on a whim—
When he succumbs to despair,
Who’s there with him?
I used to respect you for being tough.
Look at you now, coming at your brother like that.
I’m also something.
Just like you,
I too was given a task.
At least I’m honest.
I know I can cause pain.
There’s a term called “False Hope”—
Ever heard anyone feeling “False Pain”?
Life’s not a fairy tale.
I know, alright.
I can give him happiness,
I can make him smile.
I know I’m tempting him, but
It’ll be worth a while.
All you did was strangle him.
All he felt was not right.
I just wanna control him,
Make him feel alright.
Don’t give him no false hope.
Don’t make him feel traumatized.
It’s okay to be heartless.
It’s okay for him to hit rock bottom once in a while.
If Hope can flourish him and it can make him shine,
Do take the role of father figure—
It’s your duty to guide.
I understand your goal,
And I won’t hold you back.
I was born a pushover,
And I’m fine being that.
Don’t misunderstand me—
I ain’t plain as that.
I’m sinister.
I’m always there to keep you on track.
I’m always there to ensure he never gets up on his back.
I’m the hurdle he must clear.
I’m the obstacle he must pass.
And he needs you, brother,
To overcome me—
To overcome my wrath.
“With that said, whom do you choose?” both said and looked onto me.
As bewildered as I was,
I was more confused.
To choose among these two isn’t child’s play.
One will live, but one will be slain.
Like two counterforces, both can’t coexist—much to my dismay.
I thought and was about to choose,
When I suddenly opened my eyes, stunned.
Was it a dream, or have I finally succumbed
To insanity?
I pondered about the question both had asked,
And I realized I was outclassed—
Not by the amount of reasons,
Not by the sheer pressure.
I simply couldn’t choose.
Should I opt for the king of treason to live a comfortable life, but with no rhyme or reason,
Or
Should I choose the voice that you hear when you loosen the noose on a rope?
I was uncertain before, and I’m uncertain now.
Maybe someday I’ll prosper.
Maybe someday I’ll be happier.
Until then, it’s me—
And my Uncertainties.
-Asher Graves
Apr 11, 2025
Apr 11, 2025 at 7:15 AM UTC
10 days,
and 20 nights.
Sleeping,
but never resting.
I close my eyes,
tell my mind,
"You must stop!".
Silence arrives,
the calm before the disaster.
What will happen tomorrow?
And your love?
The payment?
The salary?
I want my body
to melt into the sheets,
to receive an embrace from the bed.
For the pillow
to absorb my thoughts.
For my soul to leave,
and return with the dawn.
I want to sleep,
so that in the morning I wake up,
as if yesterday
had never existed.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 1:55 PM UTC
I have worn a hundred faces,
Yet none have ever been my own.
Laughter slips from my lips like borrowed words,
Like a hollow ghost of grief and shame.
I walk among them, unseen, unheard,
A ghost with skin, a breathing blur.
They call my name, but it is not mine,
Just a sound, just a curse, just a whisper in time.
They speak of love, they speak of light,
Yet all I know is endless night.
Love was a language I never learned,
Only silence ever spoke to me.
I reached for warmth, I reached for light,
But even the sun recoiled from me.
And if I vanish—
If I slip between the cracks of existence,
Will the world even pause?
Will the sky lose its color?
Will anyone know that I was ever here at all?
I am no longer human.
Perhaps, I never was.
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 1:20 AM UTC
the noise never fades;
my poise takes the bait;
in the halls of liberation,
i submit to my fate.
i took a solemn vow:
to be ‘holier-than-thou’.
neither wrong, nor right,
i knew, until now.
i failed to see a cause;
the effect? - a terrible loss;
blinded by obsessions,
i never took a pause.
it’s been a while since the fall,
when i sprung to a brawl
with my virtues, unmasked -
and caved in to nightfall.
it all seems a blur;
it’s ‘bout time i concurred:
my reason to exist
shall always be a curse.
Feb 3, 2025
Feb 3, 2025 at 12:11 AM UTC
The kid in me stares,
through the wreckage I call my life.
His lips tremble with questions
I’ll never have the courage to answer.
His eyes do the screaming—
a silent howl that claws through my chest
and leaves me gasping for air I can’t find.
He stands there, barefoot and trembling,
holding pieces of me I swore I’d never let go of.
He’s asking me questions I don’t have answers to.
Why did I leave him in the dark?
Why did I trade his light for this hollow shell?
Why did I let the world win?
Why?
I want to tell him it wasn’t my fault—
that the cracks started small,
and before I knew it,
I was too broken to hold him.
But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?
He only knows that I was supposed to protect him.
And I didn’t.
I left him.
I let him to rot in the shadows of my survival.
I buried him under all the things I couldn’t bear to feel.
And now he stands here,
small and fragile and impossibly naive,
holding my guilt in his tiny hands
like it’s something he’s willing to forgive.
But I can’t forgive myself.
Not for what I’ve done to him.
Not for the way I’ve become everything
he used to fear.
Not for the way I let the world cut him up,
piece by piece,
while I stood by and called it growing up.
And God,
I want to tell him I’m sorry.
But what’s the point?
Sorry doesn’t unburn the bridges.
Sorry doesn’t bring back the innocence
I traded for armor that doesn’t even fit.
He watches me burn,
and I can see it—
the confusion, the betrayal,
the faint, flickering hope
that I might still save us.
But how do I tell him
that the flames are mine?
That I struck the match,
fed the fire,
let it consume everything we were
just to survive?
He doesn’t know
what it feels like to be gutted by people who swore they loved you.
He doesn’t know
how heavy it gets when you carry the weight of everyone’s indifference.
He doesn’t know
that there’s no bottom to this kind of pain—
just an endless free fall.
But he will.
One day, he will.
And when that day comes,
he’ll look at me again,
with those same pleading eyes,
that same puzzled look.
And I’ll still have no answers.
Just this fire,
and the ashes of who we might’ve been.
I want to scream at him,
shake him,
make him understand—
that this wasn’t the plan,
that I didn’t choose this.
But the truth is heavier than any excuse.
I broke him.
And I know it.
He looks at me with pleading eyes,
as if I can fix this.
As if I can go back.
But how do I tell him that I’m too far gone?
That the fire raging inside me
isn’t something I want to put out?
That I’ve grown to love the way it burns,
even as it devours what’s left of us?
He steps closer,
and I flinch.
I can’t bear it—
the hope in his eyes,
the quiet belief that I can still be something better.
Because I can’t.
Because I won’t.
He reaches out,
his tiny fingers brushing against my burnt skin,
and for a moment,
just a moment,
I feel it.
The weight of what I’ve lost.
The pieces of myself I’ve scattered to the wind,
never expecting that one day I’d want them back.
But I can’t hold him.
I can’t let him in.
Because if I do,
he’ll see what I’ve become.
He’ll see the ashes,
the emptiness,
where a heart used to be.
And he doesn’t deserve that.
He doesn’t deserve me.
So I turn away.
I let the fire take me.
I let the flames rise higher,
consuming what’s left of the kid
I couldn’t protect.
Behind me,
I hear him whisper.
It’s not anger,
or hatred,
or even sadness.
It’s worse.
It’s hope.
“Come back,” he says.
“Please.”
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Because the truth is,
I don’t know how to.
And maybe I never will.
So I just watch him watching me,
until he fades into the smoke,
leaving me alone in the ashes—
a stranger to the boy
I was supposed to protect.
I look for him in the mirror,
but he’s gone.
And all that’s left staring back at me
is the shell of someone
he used to believe in.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 1:11 AM UTC
One day, you wake up
and you’re not you anymore.
You look in the mirror,
but the eyes are empty,
like someone else is living there.
You didn’t notice it happening,
how you gave away pieces of yourself
just to fit, just to please.
A thousand small moments,
a smile you didn’t mean,
a “yes” when you screamed “no” inside.
You thought you were strong.
But you let them carve you down,
chisel by chisel,
until there’s nothing left but the shell
of who you used to be.
It doesn’t happen all at once.
It’s the slowest kind of death,
the kind where you’re still breathing,
but you’re gone.
And the worst part?
You did it to yourself.
Not with a knife,
but with silence,
with pretending,
with forgetting what you’re worth—
until one day,
you can’t even remember
who you used to be.
you’ve lost track of who you were —
a shadow,
a stranger in your own reflection.
you’ve erased the memory
of who you were,
now lost to the emptiness
you created.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 1:01 AM UTC
i see flaws everywhere:
the skewed clock on the plastered wall;
the faces flashing past the curtain call;
the faithless creed of heathens, and sleazeballs;
the smiles that hide the symptoms of withdrawal;
i see laws bent out of shape:
the policemen advantaging off exposed women;
the two-faced lawyers in courts, who summon -
the men questioned of their dignity, and religion;
the reporters come drooling, for a big fat commission.
i seek help, in vain:
the therapists diagnose me for a cerebral disorder;
they fail to put their words in the right order -
to put me at ease in the right frame of mind, so -
i accept my flaws under a contract, signed.
Jan 5, 2025
Jan 5, 2025 at 2:33 AM UTC
prone to narcolepsy;
a second thought, like -
a can of pepsi.
sold my peace for
a moment’s notice;
for the panic that utters -
‘you better not blow this!’
i sulk, i cry, i moan… it rains -
the clouds pull closer to
the gravity of my pain;
the birds find shelter at
the neighbour’s windowpane -
they leave me to dry in a room -
terrified, and insane.
i can feel the bed
warming up to my shape;
there’s a stain on the pillow
that reeks of sour grapes -
i try to rub it off,
but give in to my human make:
i curse the neighbour’s birds -
through a ****
on the moss-green drapes.
i hope it’s worth it:
all the trials, and the errors.
i long for a night,
devoid of terror -
so i may sing for a while,
with nothing to lose;
‘to be, or not to be’ -
left to me - to choose.
Dec 20, 2024
Dec 20, 2024 at 12:34 AM UTC
Standing on the mountain, looking towards the sea
Knowing they’ll both be here long after me
How long have I been here, how long will I stay
Is the time that’s left more than the time that’s passed away?
When I was young, I felt that I’d been here before
It all seems familiar, but I couldn’t say for sure
I don’t know if I’m lost, or I’m just getting one more glance
Or could it just be that God is giving me one more chance
Why we’re here is an idea that nobody is meant to know
The only fact we have is that one day we’ll have to go
Tomorrow is something that one day I won’t get to see
And my Yesterdays will be the only definition there is of me
I’m an old soul, but my body still feels young
My mind has heard the song, but the song I’ve never sung
Time knows all of the things that are still meant to be
Am sometimes I wonder, did Time forget about me?
Aug 9, 2024
Aug 9, 2024 at 11:21 PM UTC
Waking up from bed
Wondering where I'm at
Suddenly I'm surrounded
by a strange and unfamiliar sense
Tingling and anxious
I look around and explore
Is this where I called home
Or is it all a hoax
There I wander and stroke all over
Trying to have a grasp
On what's real and what's not
Maybe...I'm not what I see
Maybe...I'm not where I'm at
How can we know
When it's all just senses
It took me a while to finally realize
I am here and I am me
I am who I am because of it
The past can be a lie
The future can be a dream
The present on the other hand
Is the living of the day we're in
Breaking through the clouds
with breeze rubbing by your cheek
You smile while looking at the scene
After all...we are just passerby
Acted in the scene
Mar 26, 2024
Mar 26, 2024 at 9:21 AM UTC
walking, just walking
with nothing particular in mind
alcoholic clouds above him
with his thrifted records on
else seems so far away now
doesn't know where to stop
on that red light
or until his shoes burn out
could he be chasing butterflies
or films tattooed on his head
he doesn't know what he needs
so he keeps on walking
into a distance seemingly so far ahead
nameless, aimlessly searching
for a metal band that'll green his veins
though he'd seen a number of shades
they're not enough to save a few dying dreams
he's trying to outrun time
with nothing in him but rhymes
often times it's upsetting
as he grasps the strings desperately
maybe he's hallucinating that road he's on
or is it the empty hangover
steep cliffs dawn, in his heart so thoroughly
so he goes back home and lays down
hoping to find himself tomorrow
Apr 10, 2022
Apr 10, 2022 at 5:08 AM UTC
Elders shall live
to fan the brewing worry,
"Who is next in line?"
Old Granny lives
and we're chill
it's her turn!
But does death descend
in an order?
Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 3:11 PM UTC
Hell is here
And here
And everywhere you don't want it to be
You cut to the part of the play where we see Rome burning
YOU: Sisyphus! Here is your rock!
ME: Thanks, I thought I lost it!
I hit pause.
Up I go and down I come a
Merry-go-round that throws up red water
Free as a stallion
Free as a show pony
Running running running—
You pull me back into the auditorium
With a thought unheard in an unclean
Chalice I can't help but drink from
Water from my head filling the crevices that are
Hidden deep
Deeper
Deepest and—
Cue the [crash]! and [burn]!
(Ha! Get it! You’re burning in hell!)
That’s all this is, isn’t it?
A carefully scripted (comedy) tragedy by a (God) Devil.
I read the script again.
You’re drowning in the fire of your sins
"Condemned by the Father you once loved
Like an unfulfilled prayer
Gathering dust in hell."
I throw it in the fire.
Running running running.
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 1:39 PM UTC
i am but a mere stranger in this ghost town
sitting on my throne with a silly little crown
here's to their words that cut to the bone
and the psychedelic skies guiding me home
Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 2:02 AM UTC
Ten, nine-eight, seven,
Six-five, four,
Three-two, one.
Hopscotch.
No one questioned.
No one laughed or pouted.
The rain washed away the colours,
And we started again tomorrow.
Seven thirty,
Seven thirty,
Seven thirty,
Seven thirty,
And so on.
We need answers.
We need reasons.
We are stuck in our tomorrows.
Our present fades out fast.
We are locked up in our timers;
Slaves to our master mints.
Our souls are dying,
With nowhere to hide
And no one to seek them.
Time does not stand still.
The chalk was our past time,
The clock is our taker,
And we play ourselves.
May 3, 2021
May 3, 2021 at 8:52 PM UTC
I've been searching for the true meaning of life
Everytime I'm surrounded with people,
I feel alone and isolated
Feeling empty inside
My old life has withered away
All I did was meaningless
I'm lost,
Lots of regrets.
I'm always wrong
I can't seem to find my home
Jun 12, 2020
Jun 12, 2020 at 6:32 AM UTC