#modernmelancholy
All my words are like acoustic strings; all of their emotions
black & white like piano keys. _It's love & pain intertwined_
My passions all leak at a metronome pace—then suddenly,
it feels like a nosebleed. _Being both beautiful & painful._
As I am an email for love, sent with all my attachments.
Like music, it gets all too tedious— as these aren’t poems,
not really— just signatures, kinships inked in flesh-toned
vaults, keen to sound like truth.
I'm vying in so many dry pastures, lost in this unsatisfied
fullness— an emptiness echoing into emptiness. Still, there’s
no shame in surrender; to put everything on the line—
hanging out in the sun. _To dry, wrinkle, & fade._
As my pride wasn’t just another persona, somewhere on
the clothesline. I’ve been worn thin by time; knocked down
by life with a clothesline. But still I rise, with my neck back
on the line. Destined to shine, but to you, dearest child…
these things take time.
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 5:51 PM UTC
__Time...__
Tell me — how much does it cost? **** I don’t know._
I’m just trying to keep watch on the blessings I’ve got —
but more and more, they seem to stretch thin... like needle
and thread, barely holding the seams of me together.
I’m fading in connection. A rock flips — and I’m ******
yet still trying to show decent manners. A “decent citizen”
in the dirtiest world — where the canopy of utopia is just
the Tree of Life man’s always itching to cut down…to sell
its fruits, to chop its wood, just to make pencils — so we
can write stories about it in our edited history books.
__Love…__
Tell me — what’s a dropout lover, _anyway?_ Not one
who failed love — but one who stopped trying to graduate
from failed attempts. A degree in hopeless romanticism,
and a Master's in being a bachelor — but if time is really
worth it all, then tell me… what _all_ do you really have?
Just a handful of yourself and a whole lot of doubt.
Now... _what’s that_ about?
Jul 11, 2025
Jul 11, 2025 at 6:02 PM UTC
Bite into an idea— rows of teeth, tension tight.
Crowded smiles feel so exposing— _but this one,_
it gnaws deeper. The tension between teething
regrets and tethered faith feels so frayed, as if
the cord was always a little too short to begin
with.
I’m not riding the wave— just swimming a little
longer in my dreams; watching surfers sail off
while I sink into thought. But I surf the internet,
researching the cultivation of infinitude—
_whatever that means._ Diving into unfathomable
depths, only a few steps in and I’m already losing
my breath.
__Have I sprouted yet__? Most days, my sadness
drowns in my anger. Then a spark of joy appears—
_brief_, __fleeting__— but its glow only makes me
so sad again. And that sadness simmers back into
rage, and the loop begins once more.
_A cycle.
A seesaw._
A silent crusade to love myself again.
But the journey never really ends. Even while
searching for one. we push forward—again,
and again— until we find a better end.
Jun 28, 2025
Jun 28, 2025 at 3:16 PM UTC