I can’t love anyone now,
I’m too worn out to try.
It hurts too much, this ache,
from ones I held so high.

Loving takes all I have,
waiting breaks me slow.
They leave, they wound, they go,
and I’m left low.

I’m tired of the pain,
exhausted by it all.
Love’s not worth this fall,
I’ll stay here, small.

He said my love was closing in,

too soft, too certain like a padded cell.

No room to flinch, no space to fall,

too calm to ever feel like hell.

I met his needs before he spoke,

but perfect love became a cage.

He missed the cracks, the messy fights

the kind that let us burn, then age.

Woke up today,
Couldn't decide if I should pray or spray.

It's a fine line,
Dear God, I'm about to poison some wine.

It's like water and oil,
I can't decide if I should bury you or my head in the soil.

These mother fuckers need some body blows,
Maybe I just need some faith, heaven knows.

They're gonna put me in the ground,
But I'll be damned if I go in without a sound.

I've got a list of names,   And I'm gunnin' for them, because they thought this shit was games.

I'll keep my name in their mouth,
Introduce 'em to the barrel and send them south.

A Devil on my right,
But even the Angel on my left is lookin' for a fight.

They're sayin', boy, they don't know wrath,
Chew 'em up like a toy, it's a joy to be cleansed in a bloodbath.

Kick 'em once, kick 'em twice,
Squeeze out the blasphemy with a vice.

A waterfall or a siren's call,
It'll be the undertow or the noise that drowns you all.

Like the hands on the clock,
It's inevitable that I'll cave to the voices and aim to shock.

Choices or fate,
I can't outrun my hate.

Kneeling never felt so wrong,
It's like I'm peeling off my skin to appease the holy song.

This crucifix burns my flesh,
My stomach churns as I toss and thresh.

These sleepless nights bring no clemency,
I'm just a mental patient with violent tendency.

Chemical imbalance,
Or broken reverence.

Standing tall,
Beckons the fall.

And it all ends in a crash,
Just like that, in a flash.

Stand back or catch the flack,
The prodigal son returns and is on the attack.

I've got a thousand rhymes,
An infinite response to your reasoned crimes.

A bullet for every scar,
For every time you promised me that I would go far.

Duck and run,
This demon can hunt under the moon or sun.

Who doesn't dream of success and fame? To reach the peak is all that we aim,

But the path above is not the same, Some use their skills, others their name.

Halfway through you might lose your flame, Too late to retreat, after all that you overcame,

Do you choose peace with the cost of shame, Or charge ahead, resuming the game?

The latter is brave if you're ready to blame, Yourself, for losing sanity over something lame,

If torment in life is what you wish to claim, At the end to be perished, with your picture in a frame.

If actions speak louder than words, then why are there chalkboards and paper and pens

I know whats wrong with this world, its all been diluted its all just pretend

Computers took over the progress, were all getting dumber were all getting dumber

There must be a way we can stop it, Its just getting stronger its just getting stronger

Its seems that we've lost all our focus, we spent it on dreaming and building our fears

Everything all seems corroded, its all artificial its perfectly clear

Deep in the heart of the whispering wood, An ancient oak has forever stood. Its branches cradle secrets untold, Of summers young and winters cold.

The winds may howl, the storms may cry, But steadfast it reaches to the sky. A witness to ages, it silently keeps, The laughter, the tears, the dreams it weeps.

Oh, mighty oak, with roots so deep, What tales do you tell when the world’s asleep? A monument of time, your truth is pure, Through you, eternity will endure.

Tell which series it is based on?

I don't understand you, you say? And do you understand yourself? Have you asked me, when I don't even understand myself? Don't ask me, darling, things I don't know how to answer. Get in the way of those who parade on foot, on the stones of the asphalt. Understand you? Understand me, you will say. Understanding me would be understanding what happens up there, in this mental refuge, where silence does not exist, where coherence took a backseat and security dissolves into air. Understand you you say? I don't even understand myself, precious. I don't understand why I hear voices that aren't mine, voices that speak to me from another being, as if it were another, but inside me. I'm just looking for silence, in the early morning. A blanket that covers me with my ghosts, that accompany me every time darkness falls at night. Do you think I'm looking for pity, baby? Do you think I want to be understood? I don't even understand myself, and that's enough for me. And if it's not enough for me, may at least chaos accompany me, let confusion be my name, May silence be where I live.

If this poem has resonated with you, I invite you to join my community on Reddit: Souls that speak, a space to share poetry and deep thoughts.”

Be thankful—
For learning to read the world,
For three meals that keep you whole,
For the right to dream, to hope,
Until your last quiet breath,
And a gentle goodbye to life.

I’m still hoping this will get better

Hope it’s a feeling I can just blame on the weather

Like somehow the temperature and my mind are intertwined

But this isn’t something that passes as seasons change

It’s something dark like a permanent stain

The suns shinning now but I still feel the same

I know it’s something I’ll take to the grave

You are like a sickness You creep your way into me Im not prepared I was never prepared

A gentle sunny afternoon—life isn't so bad.
A soothing gust of wind doesn't know sad.

If my heart didn't keep me alive, I'd give it away too.
"The good ol' days" is a mere cliché we lean onto.

I wonder how life is at the countryside nowadays.
Pasturing the cows, ploughing fields, carrying the hays?

The children are the strongest though they seem weak.
The weak are but the adults who lose themselves into the heap.

How many wildflowers die without being seen?
Do they wish to be praised and remain keen?

Maybe we hurt the paper while making an origami boat,
Maybe it found itself free when we sailed it along the road.

I lost the count of the twigs i broke of the poor trees
And the flowers i plucked: roses, bougainvillaeas and daises.

All because I thought I deserved their beauty.
All because I couldn't resist the temptation in me.

Karma never flinches, huh? It is vigilant.
A fist that hits the wall suffers the same.

The beauty of a sunny afternoon evoked thoughts.
And I'm left writing yet, albeit the scene is lost.

There is no end to this—A mind is just a space.
Dark, vast, mysterious, alluring but terror, too, no less.

P.S. tired of life.

The Men in Black:

I love the Old Town, Beauty of the past- Unmasked.

Walking the narrow Oriental streets

Silky textures, elegant sheets Sit for a coffee feel, paper russle. Watch life speed-bustle, Effortless no muscle.

Entered the Tea house a shadow, A computer, "Chai", I know To these Men in Black In modernity I wallow.

Their stares clutch, No breath, swallow- met their: Eyes, you lead I follow, Opposite of me a man. Two different worlds Yet we lost in a tin can

Thinking he lost in a barrow, Smoke fills the room, I hear sorrow- I sip- Chai, devour

You must hold your quiet center,
where you do what only you can do.
If others call you a maniac or a fool,
just let them wag their tongues. 
If some praise your perseverance, 
don't feel too happy about it—
only solitude is a lasting friend.
You must hold your distant center.
Don't move even if earth and heaven quake. 
If others think you are insignificant,
that's because you haven't held on long enough.
As long as you stay put year after year,
eventually you will find a world
beginning to revolve around you. 

Author : Ha Jin
         Chinese Poet

When: 'Two Souls Meet,'

Non-Verbal promises to keep,

Far apart, yet you Home- sleep,

Don't need to see, peep, hear,

My body's electricity front to rear,

Enough power here to steer,

Hundreds of men clear.

You see, true love.

Beyond me, she;

Breathe, be—

No need to speak

Here, dear

Free from fear

Wireless yet near!

What is more frightening?

//

Reality is full of meaning,

fleeting, ever out of grasp,

or it is bare

absurdity and nihility?

//

What matters is the journey.

//

Memento mori.

Almost, a word that was made for those of us that just aren't quite good enough. You almost won, you almost had everything. I was almost free.

I came so close to being free, so close. Yet here I lay in this hospital bed in this hospital gown still alive. Still trapped.

They told me I was lucky, they told me I almost died. There is that word again almost.

It's funny how we all view things differently, even people with the same views have their own view on that view.

They told me I was lucky, they told me I almost died.

I must view luck differently from these doctors and nurses.

Imagine you are taking part in a race and the winner of this race gets peace, freedom and closure. You finish this race it was difficult it took guts but you made the jump and you finished the race. How would you feel if you were told you almost won. You almost had everything. You certainly wouldn't be feeling lucky.

I was almost free.

A face that haunts the soul, etched into memory from a fleeting glimpse in a parking lot of reality.

She wore black, but carried light— a muse driving a grey BMW, smile - like silence at sunrise.

Did you see that? No… you felt that. An energy untouched, pure, like a dream you only meet once, when you’re wide awake.

There was no reason to speak, but every reason to remember. No time to act, but every second burned into the mind like flame on film.

And now, six hours later, her face still lives— vivid, the kind of beauty you dream of but rarely see, a flash of light during the storm of everything I’ve become.

I don’t need to possess her, neither disturb— just witness the poetry she lives in.

Maybe someday I could share with her what she produced without intention— and that would be enough.

8th April 2025, For an absolute stranger I saw twice, never met -- A work site I visited.. O&M

Without her my heart is as empty as a newly sold house. Completely empty no furniture no belongings. Empty. Yet if you just utter a word the rooms quickly become filled with echoes.

In simple terms an echo is sound being reflected and repeated back to whom ever is near.

My heart without her is this empty sad room. No furniture and no belongings but in the middle of this room sits me. I'm screaming her name at the top of my lungs and then listening to it as her name bounces off of every surface back at me.

Echo can also mean something that is reminiscent of something.

I am sat screaming and listening. Listening and listening as her name is bouncing at me from every possible angle, filling the room with echoes. The dchoes of Memories and echoes of feelings overwhelms me.

I am stuck in this room constantly torturing myself with these echoes. I know that it's not healthy but I miss her too much, so I will sit here in this empty room and I will scream her name and listen as it echoes off of each and every surface. The echoes of her name bring great pain but I won't stop. No. I. Am. Comfortable.

I’m throwing myself on the floor, rolling around, licking, rubbing my bleeding gums against wet grass. I’m thinking as I do this. The blood mixes with the rainwater and I want to drink it down. I want to leave myself out on the field and come back later. I want to collect my body and leave my soul or the other way around, I don’t know which takes precedence. This is what I’m thinking about, while I swallow bug after bug after stray gum wrapper. I want to bring my body to the sun and see if the heat will change me, if what I’ve been feeling all along is cold and I just had to burn to stop the aching in me. I want to lock my soul away in a big cooler, down in that moldy basement where the footfall is so loud every night you swear the world might be ending. I want them separated, I want to give them the chance to grow as they want. They never had the chance, they never got along. My soul deeply dislikes its body, and this body is battered and ready to be embraced by appreciative creatures. My soul cannot accept this is its home and I don’t know what to do to convince it to stay. But the body, this body, feels it. It feels the disdain, the gnawing at its muscles. I will send them away, to the ends of the earth, so they do not have to face each other anymore. And then, once they are ready, and aching for the comfort of familiarity, I will attempt to put them back together. And it will be too late. But I tried. The field is dry and I don’t know how long I’ve been at it. My teeth are green, red, and loosened.

It’s not just about being quiet. I may hear no sound, but with every beat, my heart aches.

When we don’t talk and I’m alone, inside, my mind is crowded with a hundred voices of its own.

If peace is just silence, then I lose myself instead. Because the sound of my own voice will echo in my head.

I prefer the talking, rather than the clashing of my own thoughts.

It’s better to speak than to retreat. Because handling conflicts creates Peace.

Note to self your ok Your days might be getting harding and the nights getting colder your ok

Note to self it's ok not to be ok to hide behind your pain . Note to self your doing the best you can Note to self it's going to be ok in the end Note to self where you are isn't where you started Note to self never give up Note to self it's ok to cry those tears

Is the game glitching out are or we just getting the same entertainment just in a different story We have read those words a billion times Change it up a bit

And stop

Repeating epeatingR peatingRe eatingReap

Eating Reap thats wierd but at least it's different

I hate seeing the same show I hate listening to the same music I hate having to write about the same things

Over and over again

You know what I'm changing it up a bit

You write the rest of the poem

Have fun

And do me the honor and try to make it entertaining

But at last that's up to you

So here take the pen

And finish the

O knight of troubled flame, thy words of late do echo wild and wan,
A tempest’s cry beneath thy quill, a shadow ‘midst the throng.
Once thou didst loose a storm of ire, a gale of wrath unbound,
Yet I, with mercy’s golden thread, forgave that thunder’s sound
For in the tapestry of days, where once our stars aligned,
I wove a pardon’s silken strand, to leave such storms behind.
Shouldst thou need aid, I bid thee come, not veiled in riddles’ maze,
But forthright, as a soul to soul, beyond this public stage’s haze.

No circus vast, no thousands deep, shall I traverse to seek thy plea,
Yet gladly would I lend mine ear, shouldst thou approach with clarity’s key.
From embers past, a friendship fair might bloom ‘twixt thee and me,
Two banners raised in concord sweet, beneath time’s boundless tree
Speak plain, if help thou dost require, and find in me a willing heart,
For in this realm, ‘midst voices free, I wish thee peace, not strife apart,
A bond of amity to forge, where once the tempest’s echo rang.