I know no one will come to my funeral.
It doesn’t feel like fear—
it feels real.
I might be the funny guy
who made others smile,
but when I died,
still… everyone smiled.

A few sighs scattered in the wind,
but even my mother
didn’t cry.

Maybe I was just a noise
that filled their quiet
for a while.
A punchline
with no setup,
a memory they’ll blur,
not miss—
even dismiss.

I left pieces of myself
in their laughter—
but no one noticed
the funny guy
was a fighter.
Yes, they call me a writer.

"It was night. I stood alone on the road.
Someone knocked me down—
and for seven minutes, a reel of memories played in my head.
Then came the black.
Not death,
but the kind of quiet
that only comes
when you finally stop pretending to belong.

I left the world that never felt like mine—
not with a scream,
but a sigh.
And in that void,
for the first time,
"...I wasn’t lost.
I was—
find."

Even the fastest runner
couldn’t catch his love.
He watched her walk away

Even the best painter
couldn’t capture his lover—
something was always missing.

Even pure things
carry a little stain.
Even love
holds some pain.

So tell me, Mom… Dad…
why must I keep going on,
when even the good kids don't ?

I saw the moon and fell asleep,
Its light was calm, its silence deep.
But when I woke, the moon had gone—
The sun had come, and took the throne.

He said, “Wake up. Go take what’s yours,
No more dreams behind closed doors.”

The moon is loved for bringing peace,
But the sun? He burns, yet never leaves.
Tired, alone—but still he shone.
And that day,
I chose the sun.
I chose the strong one.

I fell for the ocean,
Knowing he loves everyone.
But every wave that touched my skin
Felt like a promise—until it was done.

I watched others play in the same tide,
And smiled, pretending I was fine inside.
It was a mistake, I won’t forget...
But one I carry
With no regret.