#hopeanddespair
i am invisible
i cannot say that
someone would notice if i disappeared
its true that
every effort is wasted
i refuse to believe that
people care about me
i should stop believing in life
never, i would never say
i am loved. i am seen. i am known.
(now read bottom up)
Feb 4
Feb 4, 2026 at 11:38 PM UTC
I woke up today — everything felt the same. No, wait, maybe a little
different. I woke up today; different than I was yesterday. Tea in my
cup; I should be warm inside. The sky is clear, the air is kind; so why
does my smile still hide? For a child once aimed a slingshot at a bird
to feel the power of flight, by ending it. Somewhere between that
innocence and intent, my joy was caught mid-air — a fragile thing
that forgot how to land.
Now my smile fits in a framed exhibit, a masterpiece that only exists
when seen, felt. I sprinkle specks of luck like salt over the shoulder of
the horizon —the sun can rise as high as it pleases, but even on those
days, I’m still beneath where it began.
Urgency — no matter how twisted; it keeps me chewing on the taste
of worth. The pop of gums, the rub of rusty coins against my eyes
to imagine change — _literal, spiritual_, any kind will do. While the
struggle stays the same; we all buy into hope with whatever small
change we have left. And though I want to cry, to rage, to scream,
I know it won’t rewrite the day.
So I swallow the silence, tie it to my soul with the morning,
and push through — one more day, one more try at different.
Oct 30, 2025
Oct 30, 2025 at 6:16 PM UTC
a life reflected in my tear— feels like
a whole ocean held in glass, _shattering_
as it dries across my cheek, breath
breaking shallow, thoughts spilling faster
than my lungs can keep.
and just when I reach for life, it drags back—
almost like smoke on a cigarette: each
inhale a promise, each exhale a quiet theft.
so time bites like an apple, sweet at first
taste, but rotting me slowly down
to the core.
wait... I found the colour of prayer
in the grass, my knees pressed low
until the earth became an altar.
to bend is to grow, to kneel is to root—
but the more I chase what isn’t mine,
the more pieces of myself scatter like
loose change, spent out on illusions.
so I pack away the versions of me—
drawers filled with colours, some bruised
like dusk, some bright as flame;
stitched together, I am still made of light,
even if the lamp inside me flickers.
and by the lovely darkness—
my contradiction, my just cathedral—
know my soul will ignite in an instant,
even if the tunnel stretches endless.
because it is darkness itself that makes
light _Undeniable_.
Oct 5, 2025
Oct 5, 2025 at 5:27 AM UTC
There are days I try to summon peace — to call away
the late-night ghosts still pacing the edge of sleep.
As I wear the last tears like glass in my dry eyes,
fragile, but refusing to fall.
As I hold faith in the sunrise — though I don’t know
if this night will stretch longer than I can bear, or if
tomorrow will rise with light enough to meet me again.
And if lips are a quiet prize — not just for kissing,
but for kindness — then may they still speak, softly,
with the warmth of a life beginning again.
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 3:48 PM UTC
"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."
May 22, 2025
May 22, 2025 at 7:27 PM UTC
The sky seems dark and light remains far,
Light is taken by darkness and cruelty has grown too harsh.
Hope fades like a whisper lost in the storm,
As sorrow and silence together form.
Apr 28, 2025
Apr 28, 2025 at 8:31 AM UTC
patiently, i wait -
my legs crossed,
and my heart too.
much time has passed
since the inevitable happened,
and yet, the light of a clement morn
never fails to justify the agony
of dying stars in the night sky;
or the ones too dead for even the
darkness that consumed them.
the heavens dispatch their
messenger birds to nook the
wisdom into the branches
of trees whose roots have shrewd
under the weight of logs that
outline their ascent.
such trees call upon the sages
to enlighten them,
and to warn them -
for they know too well how the
message might confound in the grips
of those who practise hedonism.
perhaps, the light has always been
too blinding for mortal eyes.
the flowers bloom all the same;
the winds usher the fragrant truth -
slowly, but surely;
and i lie in hope for the
rancid thoughts to inevitably
take on new meanings…
patiently.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 9:12 AM UTC