It’s like I hear a clock ticking—
Will it stop if I stop breathing?
Endless scars, I keep on picking,
My lips taste blood; it’s seething.

I’m too young to feel this weight,
Too blessed to bear this fate.
So why does stress invade my state?
Why can’t I escape the ache?

do it
just do it
do it scared
do it frightened
do it uncomfortable
do it with your heart beating really fast
do it with that knot in your throat
do it with tears falling down
do it with a broken heart
do it with shaky hands

just do it .

the fear of fate
one click and it will close the gate
everything will be set in stones
and carved deep into my bones .
turning back in time won't be an option
everything will end.
and ..as much as I complained all the way to there
I'm kinda of afraid of the end.

To not have regrets,
To not look back,
And wonder what could've been.
To live—truly live—
Not merely exist.

Don't stay alone,
For good people roam:
Friends, strangers, lessons untold.
Be kind, even when the world is not.
Say "hi" to faces new,
Say "yes" to the unknown.

Believe in yourself,
More than reason demands.
Dream so big,
That the world calls it absurd.
See the best in every single thing.
Make somebody's day,
Smile.

Be unapologetically you,
Your true, wild self.
Love without warnings,
Face your fears—
With hectic courage and boldness.
Step into the world,
And wonder,
What  each day can bring.

it was hell
but it became so familiar
the thought of leaving it made me sad
it feels like yesterday  
but it's actually been three years
same doors
same highways
same road
so much people yet so few
maturing..or de-maturing it was your choice to do
**** talking won't fix **** but it's a good hobby
don't get lost in youth thinking you have time
cuz this time is over now

I’m convinced that, in another world, in another life,
I was a writer.

Observing life,
weaving stories,
hunting words,
and adjusting reality.

I’d sit by the ocean,
a glass of wine or tea in hand,
and write—
about love,
about life,
about sadness,
about characters defying odds
to create their own worlds
within mine.

I’d rewrite the endings I couldn’t bear:
bring them together,
let her succeed,
make her feel loved,
and turn him into the one.

In that life,
I’d shape the world as it should be—
one story at a time.

Please tell me the ending is good—
I don’t want to get lost.
I feel trapped in a wood
I don't know the path of


The voices whisper,
“Follow the glowing lights,”
but there’s nothing in sight—
just imposters dressed in white,
waiting to catch me
when I’m too tired to fight.

And believe me, I’m tired.
Nothing gets me inspired
I don’t even recognize the girl in the mirror.

Each morning, I stand,
staring at her silhouette—
thinner,
slimmer.
I linger on her figure and wonder,
“Did I wrong her?
She deserved so much more.”

But no one sees that.
So, I play along,
pretending to be strong—
like I’ve done for so long,
just to belong.

Please tell me the ending is good.
Because if it’s not,
I’ll have to build a house
in the woods

You think too much—
Always reaching for more,
Convinced you’re smarter,
Yet losing what’s already yours.

You think too much,
And the moment slips away—
The people, the emotions,
They fade at the break of day.

For what?
To mourn photographs of what you lived?
To pine for a past that felt brighter,
Wishing to hold on to it tighter

You think too much,
And life passes you by—
Not in the present,
But trapped in a memory’s lie.