#modernexistence
Soft biscuits, crunchy teeth; crunch time:
mid-twenties, late twenties, thirty knocking
without knocking, every age an ill-fitting jacket.
Do we _stumble or stutter,_ __belt it or buckle?__
I’m exhausted from outrunning myself through
the ash of volatile passions, burning my tongue
on honesty, spilling my heart like it won’t blister.
With all these pestering thoughts, will the words
escape me or sit heavy in my mouth? Every shallow
sentence hides a depth. Every page of life you've
read, is riddled with misspelt moments —missing the
__S,__ of the quiet **** you survive, but never speak aloud.
Life is a biscuit you pray comes with a creamy centre,
yet the middle lives between a lot of hardship & time.
_Crunch, crunch, crunch_ — how much can you really
swallow before it lodges in your throat, choking
you into either despair or happy tears?
Dec 28, 2025
Dec 28, 2025 at 12:16 PM UTC