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#sadness
I make peace with the fact you were never mine You belonged to your schedules Late nights working And every day misery You were never mine Because you never wanted to be Still I put you on a pedestal And in the right light Bathed in my love You seemed magic You seemed almost impossible But still you were never mine Even when you were in my head All my affection did was suffocate you All you wanted to do was escape me
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8h ago
Jun 4, 2026 at 4:50 PM UTC
Mine
They don’t see How hard I try They just think I don’t work Because they don’t see me cry They don’t see All the late nights I would stay up and wonder If I would ever be alright They don’t see Everything I give So they beat me down And make me not want to live They don’t see All the feelings inside All the good and the bad That I try to hide They don’t see The monsters in my head The ones that will hurt me And fill me with dread They don’t see That all that I want Is to be accepted But they stand there and taunt They don’t see That this is all fake I’m not really ok I just push myself until I break So that I can prove To all that don’t see That I really am enough But even I no longer believe
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8h ago
Jun 4, 2026 at 4:32 PM UTC
They Don't See
You said you were tired. I said, “Me too.” You said the day felt heavy. I laughed, said that’s just how life is. We compared headaches, sleepless nights, the way getting out of bed sometimes felt like lifting concrete. I thought we were the same. I thought we were surviving the same storm. I didn’t know yours was already flooding the house. The thing about living in the dark for so long is your eyes adjust. You stop noticing how little light there is. You stop asking questions. You stop looking for exits. So when you told me you were drowning, I thought you meant what I meant. Barely keeping your head above water. Miserable, but alive. I didn’t know you couldn’t touch the bottom anymore. I didn’t know every joke was a life jacket coming apart in your hands. You smiled. I smiled. You said, “I’m okay.” And I believed you because I was saying it too. Now I replay every conversation. Every “I’m tired.” Every “I’m fine.” Every moment I could’ve stopped and listened better. I keep wondering if sadness can recognise itself. If two storms can stand side by side and still not see each other. Because I knew darkness. I knew empty rooms, silent drives home, nights that stretched forever. I knew the weight. And somehow I still didn’t recognise how much heavier yours had become. Now when it rains I think about how we both stood under the same clouds. How I thought we were sharing an umbrella. How I never realised you were already soaked through.
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17h ago
Jun 4, 2026 at 7:59 AM UTC
Already Soaked Through
You said you were tired. I said, “Me too.” You said the day felt heavy. I laughed, said that’s just how life is. We compared headaches, sleepless nights, the way getting out of bed sometimes felt like lifting concrete. I thought we were the same. I thought we were surviving the same storm. I didn’t know yours was already flooding the house. The thing about living in the dark for so long is your eyes adjust. You stop noticing how little light there is. You stop asking questions. You stop looking for exits. So when you told me you were drowning, I thought you meant what I meant. Barely keeping your head above water. Miserable, but alive. I didn’t know you couldn’t touch the bottom anymore. I didn’t know every joke was a life jacket coming apart in your hands. You smiled. I smiled. You said, “I’m okay.” And I believed you because I was saying it too. Now I replay every conversation. Every “I’m tired.” Every “I’m fine.” Every moment I could’ve stopped and listened better. I keep wondering if sadness can recognise itself. If two storms can stand side by side and still not see each other. Because I knew darkness. I knew empty rooms, silent drives home, nights that stretched forever. I knew the weight. And somehow I still didn’t recognise how much heavier yours had become. Now when it rains I think about how we both stood under the same clouds. How I thought we were sharing an umbrella. How I never realised you were already soaked through.
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By The-Drifter-From-Heaven In life's color palette, we cannot really choose, Life is its own painter and we are but its canvas. Sometimes we get the blues, an ocean of rue, We get the gray too, a color so untrue. Life: a deceptive painter with a cruel brush stroke, An artist that paints vivid darkness that chokes. Though sometimes the colors embrace a lighter hue, And give us hope for the orange, yellow, and gold, Where dreams are made in the middle of a green meadow, A shroud of white, life's gift in the night, And finally it gives us a rainbow shining bright.
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21h ago
Jun 4, 2026 at 3:56 AM UTC
Life's Palette
I didn't know it would be the last time that you held me through the night. The last time the sky cradled fireflies. And the moon didn't simmer down, Gathering raindrops in her craters. Sorrow cups the sides of my face. Running stoney fingers through my hair. Leaning down to press a kiss and breathe dewdrops into my lungs. As the pitter-patter disrupts the silence.
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1d ago
Jun 3, 2026 at 10:09 PM UTC
Desolate.
Clinging-- Closer than Snow Storms Cling to Death, Hearing the Whisper of a Crackle as The Wax Weeps Down the Wick. Clanging-- Four Chimes Ringing in the Silent Night, Searching For an Audience. Can't hide from the pain in your chest-- It's deep. It has roots. My blanket-- It used to be magic. I would come home-- Crying, My bed would greet me in its usual fashion and I would flop, pull the edges of the blanket and wrap them around me. And then I was safe. And then I was warm. I was invisible in my cloth burrito. My blanket is fluffier. More fancy. Regal even. Queens had down comforters--right? It's not the same. It's too soft. It hasn't been cried into for hours, or filled with crumbs from snacks. It isn't stained from being used as a napkin. Ringing-- In my ears, The Silence a Cold Mirror, but Every Time I get Close, my Breath Fogs up the Glass.
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May 12
May 12, 2026 at 2:14 AM UTC
The Comfort of Comforters
All my life, I’ve wondered one thing. “What is love?” I’m not talking about the love you feel for a parent or for a thing, Nor the love for a certain song. I’m talking about the true love that makes you rethink the rest of your life. The love that keeps you up all night. The love that brings a warmth in your chest you haven’t felt before. The love that makes you want to tell them everything about your soul and in between. The love that shoots through your heart and unleashes energetic butterflies in your stomach. Then I realized, That’s what love is Love is the thing that makes you plan out the rest of your life, The thing that keeps you up all night, waiting for a text, The thing that warms your chest and makes you stutter, The thing that shoots through your heart and leaves you swarmed with butterflies, That’s love. True love.
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1d ago
Jun 3, 2026 at 1:30 AM UTC
What is (true) love?
venom leaks, darkness seeps. shadows flow in, lone wallows. blackness leeching on, ******* away remaining light. in a world of pain, one stability. one peace. one love. alcohol.
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2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 2:15 PM UTC
stability
I believe you that we’re not compatible after all this time Because I would have done anything to make you feel comfortable To make you feel safe While you felt like caged animal thinking about a future by my side You felt trapped You felt suffocated By someone who wanted nothing but to love you unconditionally To build a home To build a life with you A life that would have been warm Soft And kind When I put your feelings ahead of mine you thought of your own comfort your own need for escape You chose yourself and would have done Time and time again every day So you’re right we’re not compatible Because I deserve a love that can carry me through life through death through hardship A love that would choose me every single time
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2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 9:45 AM UTC
Compatible
The sun is shining My world is right But deep inside I long to cry I feel the tingle In my nose As the tear ducts Start to swell Without reason Sadness fills up My mind and soul The heart pounds As the depression Sets in—
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2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 9:02 AM UTC
The brightest day...
at times, I see the cracks the mirror casts on me, at times, I'm left to wonder if I'm really what it sees. at times, I hear the whispers crawling 'neath my skin, climbing thoughts and monologues trying to enter in and at times it gets so deafening, I can't hear what it says, nor can I tell what I'm seeing, but I think I see my face growing in the reflection, I hear the hissing wind, I wish it could be different, but the mirror cracks again.
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2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 2:22 AM UTC
the mirror speaks
Secret Love (sonnet / lyrics & links to 3 versions of the song (free) Links (free)-- Female vocals version: https://suno.com/s/x8wXRV6wQ5dvdS8E Male vocals version: https://suno.com/s/Gf2u4C8dkWoj0P7s Duet version: https://suno.com/s/W1t9mxT19wBooJjv Intro - instrumental Verse 1 - Slow, whispered, breathy I've stayed too long, at least a week or two, And now I wonder, can I leave at all? Running away is all I seem to do, Walking the edge, afraid to rise or fall. Verse 2 - longing, slow delivery We've shared a thousand secrets in a glance, Poured out our hearts and watched them drain away, Viewed the same dream, each through a separate stance, Soothing our pain saw nights turn into day. Bridge - emotional, deliberate delivery Verse 3 I am most vulnerable in your sight, You leave no walls for me to hide behind, You make me laugh, through tears, at my own plight, And search for answers I don't want to find. Outro - close mic, slow, breathy If there's one hope I'll cling to in the end, It is that I may always call you friend. Sonnet & Lyrics (C) Victor D. Lopez 2011, 2026. All rights reserved. Image created from detailed prompts using Night Cafe Studio.
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2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 2:19 AM UTC
Secret Love - Sonnet, Lyrics and three versions of the song (free)
The first sign was the cat that ran up to us on the street, he rubbed against us and lay down for a scratch. I thought it would be that’s that but three more we were to meet, a peculiar encounter with an odd batch. No matter how you pull or how you yank it, there’s something about those blankets that make you feel cold. The only time that a person has one is when it’s near their time to come; not destined to grow old. That night on the TV, there was Bette Midler in one of my favorite movies we used to say she reminded us of you. But the resemblance to her you said you had failed to see, I guess it all depends on the point of view. No matter how they sow when they make it, there’s something about those blankets that make you feel cold. The patterns of the quilt may be appealing but it’s heat and fate it’s sealing, to never grow old. A cardinal came the day after you passed it was the first bird Kate had at the feed, I said “I think that’s her saying her goodbye.” I hope that bird’s not the last that we’ll ever see because I need to know you’re still around with her and I. No matter if you deny or if you thank it there’s something about those blankets that make you feel cold. I’m sure I’ll make use of it enough, if I’m built so tough that I can grow old.
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3d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 3:35 PM UTC
Bloodline Blanket
So bold, beautiful, and perfectly told. Written with such weight, sadness, and creativity. So surreal, such sweet serenity, heavenly tragedy. Who cares to see what ink spills out of me. My heart is an endless line of poetry inside an old clock tower. A cobweb in the corner of spiraling thoughts and memories. The triumph is in the trying, so regrettably I set it free. It's all part of my imagination. Some of it pure and pristine. Some of it to ugly to be seen. So it’s tick tock, the time away. The moon, the stars, another day. Another reason to smile, be happy or sad again. Battered by the storm, the wind, the snow, the rain — it’s still the same tick tock anyway. It just takes a word from someone to say, To make you hold your head in shame, Or believe in magic and dreams again. I’m just a house of cards on a windy day, Watching pieces of me fly away. Left holding just the 2 of clubs. So I’ll gather them up, reshuffle, and start again. Tick tock, the old clock tower...
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3d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 1:15 PM UTC
Tower
Why the bad life? Was it the bad moments? The wrong people? Or did we simply arrive in the wrong era? Because sometimes it didn’t feel bad at all. For a while everything made sense. The timing. The people. The little accidents that became memories. Days moved strangely, as if something invisible was arranging everything quietly. There was chaos, yes. But there was laughter inside it. There was beauty between failures. There were seconds where being alive felt almost unreal. Maybe life was never one thing. Maybe we just remember pain louder than we remember peace. Because looking back— even the broken parts had a strange kind of magic. Almost like a dream we complained about while we were still inside it.
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3d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 11:41 AM UTC
Why the Bad Life?
You tried me on like a jacket As the weather changed on a spring day The sun broke through the clouds So you left our love behind Running away from the possibilities Because you're a pessimist And this was never supposed to be that serious
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3d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 10:52 AM UTC
Serious
the thoughts cut deep, like the flesh that they bleed. through my tears, the cold air clears. they fall, and fall, and fall. sometimes I cry into my palms, and think of all the people I used to be. the girl who carried too much. the girl who wanted to disappear. the girl who sat in dark rooms, hoping no one would miss her absence. but now, I carry them all. keeping them hidden, every day.
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3d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 3:06 AM UTC
deep tears
I have fallen from the sight of mortal men, Now I am falling from the grasp of this earthly realm. Somewhere far away in the endless depths, Where there are no bounds to emotional heft, When I reached the darkest depth of gloom, Tinnitus sang — the herald of my doom. I am Pluto now, fading out of sight, The farthest point of darkness in the night. I am Pluto now, frozen in the cold, A lonely world with a story left untold. Yes, I am Pluto now... I am Pluto... "Call me Pluto" by Mayank Dubey
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4d ago
May 31, 2026 at 3:49 PM UTC
Call me Pluto
What haven’t we done for you? Why do you want to fail us? These questions have taunted me for as long as I can remember. Why do I want to live like this? I heard life was exciting. I want to live and die. I want to live for me, but I can’t. I carry tons of responsibilities. If I live, I live for them. If I die, they die with me. What am I to do?
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4d ago
May 31, 2026 at 5:24 AM UTC
Dilemma
They say practice makes perfect, But I'll always be a deject. Maybe practice makes progress, But I'd rather break the promise, Dig my one grave, A pitiful creature no one is coming to save. Eraser shavings and crumpled pages, Every brush stroke enrages, Take one, two, maybe third times the charm, I think all I do is harm. Should I give up, give in, Let all the bad thoughts win. I'll never be the best so why try, I doubt the tears will ever dry.
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4d ago
May 31, 2026 at 3:11 AM UTC
Practice Makes Parents Happy
I hate my body Because I’m not fat like you see on TV I don’t sit on the couch all day Eating chips and candy But if you put me in a room Of skinny girls I would be the biggest one Hiding behind their perfect blonde curls I’m the kind of fat That stays up late browsing “How much should a 15 year old weigh” As I’m actively drowning I’m the kind of fat That looks in the mirror And has never liked who she saw Wishes it was purer I’m the kind of fat That people don’t know how to respond When I mention my insecurities And so they exchange glances and move on I’m the kind of fat That fears leaving home Because what if there’s food? I can’t let them know I’m the kind of fat That eats But I hate it And I wish I could stop Wish I wasn’t hungry Wish I would just drop I’m the kind of fat That gets upset when my stomach grumbles But can’t give up food So I satisfy the rumbles I’m the kind of fat That no one really cares about Too small to be a big girl Too big to be a small girl Caught in between worlds A place where no one goes Except for the girls Who are scared and alone
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5d ago
May 30, 2026 at 5:03 PM UTC
Fat
weather is shy i weep at her cursed her but couldn't stand the idea my last tear dropped love is not a choice proper but she once told me "you look happy i'm happy ur happy" what does it mean to never have lived and to be unable to feel the love that even the birds long for us to have us to live that now i look sad like a soulless house it has soul because people live in it otherwise it is just a big cluster of material of bricks and of cold stones
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5d ago
May 30, 2026 at 10:05 AM UTC
soulless house
i keep telling myself i should take a step back. just a small one— nothing dramatic, nothing you would even notice. just enough to make things easier. for you. for me. for whatever this is that i don’t seem to understand without turning it into something it was never meant to be. but every time i think about leaving, even just a little— there’s this quiet fear that settles in my chest. not loud, not overwhelming at first, just… there. like a thought i don’t want to finish. that maybe if i step away, you’ll realize how easy it is without me. how light things feel when i’m not around to overthink every silence, every word, every moment that passes too quickly for me to hold onto. that maybe someone else will come along and fit into your world in a way i never could— naturally, effortlessly, without needing to try so hard just to exist next to you. and i hate that thought. even though a part of me already believes it. because if i’m honest— i don’t really feel like someone who belongs anywhere in your life. more like a pause, a passing moment, something that can be replaced without leaving a mark. and still, i stay. but staying isn’t easy either. because every second comes with its own weight. every laugh followed by a quiet question— was that too much? every silence turning into something sharp— are you getting tired of me? every normal moment twisting into something uncertain before i can just let it be. it feels like i’m constantly on the edge of something ending— even when nothing is happening. like i’m waiting for a shift in your tone, a small distance, anything that tells me i should have left earlier. so i exist somewhere in between. not fully here, not fully gone. holding on while already preparing to let go. and i don’t know which one hurts more— the idea of leaving and becoming nothing, or the fear of staying and slowly realizing that i already am.
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6d ago
May 29, 2026 at 2:49 PM UTC
somewhere between staying and leaving
i keep telling myself i should take a step back. just a small one— nothing dramatic, nothing you would even notice. just enough to make things easier. for you. for me. for whatever this is that i don’t seem to understand without turning it into something it was never meant to be. but every time i think about leaving, even just a little— there’s this quiet fear that settles in my chest. not loud, not overwhelming at first, just… there. like a thought i don’t want to finish. that maybe if i step away, you’ll realize how easy it is without me. how light things feel when i’m not around to overthink every silence, every word, every moment that passes too quickly for me to hold onto. that maybe someone else will come along and fit into your world in a way i never could— naturally, effortlessly, without needing to try so hard just to exist next to you. and i hate that thought. even though a part of me already believes it. because if i’m honest— i don’t really feel like someone who belongs anywhere in your life. more like a pause, a passing moment, something that can be replaced without leaving a mark. and still, i stay. but staying isn’t easy either. because every second comes with its own weight. every laugh followed by a quiet question— was that too much? every silence turning into something sharp— are you getting tired of me? every normal moment twisting into something uncertain before i can just let it be. it feels like i’m constantly on the edge of something ending— even when nothing is happening. like i’m waiting for a shift in your tone, a small distance, anything that tells me i should have left earlier. so i exist somewhere in between. not fully here, not fully gone. holding on while already preparing to let go. and i don’t know which one hurts more— the idea of leaving and becoming nothing, or the fear of staying and slowly realizing that i already am.
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