A lost soul
Drifting through this place, searching for a warm door
One that will let her in, to fit in, to lay in
tries its hardest to figure things out, out there
But it’s easy to see
It’s not fair
Not being able to drown in
To smell the scent of this secret sin.

The handwriting warm glimpses
Pushes the grief that always follow
The charge you consume
Plucks the soul you Bloom
the cold it holds beneath
drugs the ill that scars beneath
standing there with the whisper of fales that overwhelms
And and it grows until there's nothing underneath

The grief in me is swallows the air I breathe
Crawling, dragging me into its built of guilt
Behind its door of agony
I grind my teeth
Plucking the soul that wiltled
What a waste for the core you kept
I stand at the abyss
with boxes of the life I left
bourid her beneath
and let her rest

Maybe.
Mostly.

he is not cut out to live with all of this-
to live while bearing the scars
countless of spears in his chest
yet still breathing
blood all over the floor, returned defeated
every time he went on the war
with a hope that someday a savior will arrive
bearing a sign of peace and not bruises from a father

When morning light gently touches your face,
And evening hums the song our hearts both know,
You are the goddess time can’t ever replace—
Your warmth is what makes even cold nights glow.

Your eyes are deep, like stars could hide in there,
They pull me in, the way the moon moves tides.
And like the sun that dances through spring air,
Your beauty shines—so soft, it never hides.

I’m just a bee, enchanted by your scent,
Drawn to the sweetness in your gentle bloom.
And as the sun begins its slow descent,
It crowns your skin with gold, like soft perfume.

So fate declares you loveliest of all,
And I, your poet, rise to heed love’s call.

When the world shatters, piece by piece,
Each shard too lost—if found, too heavy to seize.
Life becomes a wasteland, where joy’s just a trace,
So numb… even sorrow wears a human face.