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Years have just gone by,
What the hell is life, hey hi!
From rustling wind and steps to everest,
What remains now is a puzzled quest, isn't it?

Imagining the place to be down the busy lane,
Demeaning bask in the sun, dance in the rain.
Scrolling glittering pictures immersed in joy,
Craving of wannabes - a perfect ploy.

After climbing the top, after swimming till end,
Mr X went perplexed, just what to amend?
The shallowness within, the purpose of all,
Screamed the heaven, ROCK N ROLL - there is nothing at all, there is nothing at all !!
Rain Jul 3
There is a heaviness within me
that never leaves,
no matter what I do,
no matter what I say.

Omnipresent,
like a death sentence:
slow,
cruel.

My thoughts are curses,
blasphemous, dark, vile,
a constant sacrilege
against a power too great
to subjugate.

I'm held in chains,
my humanity a gift
wrapped in a cage.

I try to run,
but it claws at my skin.

Now I'm left
with bones and veins,
dragging myself through the sand
as the clock ticks,
a reminder
that my time will soon end.

My arms flail in despair,
reaching for an anchor
before I vanish
into an abyss
too vast to comprehend.

Yet an echo chants in verses,
a lament of truth
that feels like a burden:

All is fleeting.
Nothing stays.

Love comes in waves.
It drowns you
in euphoric bliss,
where two souls intertwine
for a single kiss.

Then you're alone,
washed up on the shore,
wondering
when it began
and how it came to end.

You bask in the light of happiness,
but darkness always follows,
leaving you cold and hollow.

Only death is certain.
Only you exist.

Others are but mirrors.
Their reflections never change,
a constant dissonance
between who I am
and what I try to escape.

I've been cast out of heaven
to rot in this hell,
among demons and devils
whose desires drip like venom.

Greed in their eyes,
wrath in their hearts,
sweet nothings
masked beneath lust.

Cleanse me of this place.

Burn me:
sevenfold,
tenfold.

Rid me of this plane.

Banish me to silence,
where death does not toll,
to the place where time
exists only as a shadow.
Contemporary madness -
Craving more - with no subtraction
    "In game?" - involve
    Participation - of the thought  
    Most mimic those who disconnected
    Most play as virgins - unaware
    Not daring to examine bearings
        Of social roles and biological demandings
        Of what is "Me" - not a direction - *****
        It teaches taking human role
        Humane is engineers laughter
        "It's sickening to see you choose an owe
        When you repeat same neural patterns"
        You peak plateau - a weary and indifferent
            Flaw - begs you to quit the brawl
            Unless you choose as part of the absurd
            A conscious action of self-talk
            With none of "I" from egoistic brothel
                At last to see the stupid joke
                With it they made a 'wear'
                Augustly awful is its fate
                So desperate to be the wearer
Nick May 21
I am not broken; the world is.
Every day, it’s a new trend, whether worthless or rich,
Whether Black or white, dull or bright.
Every day is a new battle, a storm in a sea of dreams.
Dreams which get lost among the crowd of mindless bees.

The unfortunate truth is, the world favours aesthetics.
Whether in your work or in your deary beak.
Each day it’s a new goal, whether money, happiness, or ******,
But I ask, where is the genuine, the giddy, and the fulfilled?
Lost in the wildfire of fleeting faces and smoke-choked dreams?

Where are the joyful, the dreamers, and the poets?
Lost in the world of the weary, the cynic, and the skeptics?
But finally, I see the truth, the infallible truth—
Hidden behind the layers, lies, buzz, and noise,
That I am not broken; the world is.
evangline May 20
I often wonder about death.
I often wonder about the halting of our breath.
Is it really as peaceful as they all tend to say?
Or just as terrible — in a different kind of way?

I wonder about death,
Time slowly slipping by.
I wonder about life,
Moments gently passing by.

We are all caught up in ourselves,
Doing this and doing that,
When we should really be chasing
The dreams we once had.

“Death is part of life,” some say.
It catches up with you — and ends the play.
The games we play, with ourselves and our minds,
Telling ourselves we’re fine,
When we’re really losing our minds.

There will come a time,
When you will say:
What was all this for, anyway?

Don’t let that phrase haunt your mind.
Make something of yourself — and this little sweet life.
Don’t strive to be the best,
Just strive to strive.

And soon you will see,
That’s really all it takes —
To be someone you admire,
Not someone who’s fake.

I wonder about death,
Not so often anymore.
I enjoy the trivial things,
Not so worried anymore.
written between study sessions and existential dread <3
When did children lose their love of learning?

When they were told to conform,
To forget their being,
To discard interests, agency, creativity

My own complicity
In the stifling of identity

Authenticity, a digression of the self,
A dissolution of swarming
Complexities

When did I gain my love of learning?

The burning crucible
Of curiosity

Set aflame by rejection of conformity

Constraints, curriculum, crushing expectations
and a world disintegrating
fires of digressions

When is conformity an expression of authenticity?

When is authenticity just another form of conformity?
Adrift in between—the breath and the break.
Muffled by silence. The real feels fake.
Visible ghosts pay invisible costs—
In search of myself, I found myself lost.

A stranger arrives. Identity wanes.
We share the same pulses that surge through my veins.
Observe my duality—tell me, who's true?
The body you saw, or the energy you knew?

Without the observer, I'm held out of phase.
I fill empty space—with more empty space.
You glanced in my direction, collapsed me to light.
I fell into being, from quantum-bound heights.

Euphoria sleeps. I dread my own wake.
Time ticks while I shake and my thoughts dissipate.
Here I am again—my lowest of highs.
Collapsed, but still standing, still living these lies.

I flicker between a phantom and soul.
Wholeheartedly hollow. I burn without glow.
The past still hums beneath thinning skin—
A whispering echo that calls out my sin.

Step in too close, or just take a look—
I quietly fold, closed up like a book.
The script rewrites its endings to shift,
As I drift, unwilling, through reality’s slit.

One path offers clean, another brings filth.
I exist just as is—your perception brings guilt.
Not welcome to be—medicate me to align.
Would you believe it’s your doubt fracturing my mind?

These moments go slow—I cope to feel new.
But each time I stitch, my seams just undo.
I’m a fracture. A wreck. Pathetically alive.
Until the next time I hide—from the gaze of your eye.
Mirage of lives,
Ever tell me current lies.
Mirage of time,
Sever bells that cries.
I live today,
But I died tomorrow.
I live today,
To see the old of me present.
Dead memories,
Unknown reality,
What shall wake me,
treacherous why.
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