Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
If I never loved him, would I have still found you?
Our meeting was so random, but it was kind of his fault too
If I hadn't left him,
I wouldn't have opened up that game,
And if I never did that- would you ever know my name?
If we take it further from all the trauma I went through, had I not lived through it, would my path still have stopped at you?
At what point in this timeline was our fate decided?
I think about this all the time- I've over analyzed it.
If she didn't have me at sixteen,
maybe my childhood could've been abuse free,
If my dad wasn't a ******* ***, I could have lived at home and not dropped out of class,
If I didn't isolate at my grandmother's house, would I have been strong- less like a mouse?
If a heart attack didn't take her from me, I'd have never gotten close to him in 2015
If I hadn't suffered a decade with him,
I'd have never been in Salem
with my sister's on a whim
If I wasn't damaged would I have ran? Maybe then we'd get the life sometimes we would plan
If none of this happened I'd just like to know,
Was my soul always destined
for yours to know?
Meeting you while still healing will always haunt me, but maybe the wounds led me to you.
Could we have met later?
Or is fate so cruel, this was our one chance?
 May 31 ghostsonpaper
Cadmus
The worst isn’t death.
Death is honest.
It arrives, it ends.
Clean.

The worst is staying.
Breathing.
Functioning.
While everything that made you you
quietly rots beneath the skin.

When you watch your passions
starve to death
and can’t even bother
to grieve them.

When the people you loved
become background noise,
and you answer with nods
because words cost too much.

When nothing is worth arguing for,
and silence feels
like mercy.

This isn’t a fall.
It’s slow erasure
each day
another fingerprint gone
from the glass.

Until one morning,
you look in the mirror
and meet
a very polite stranger.
This poem explores emotional erosion - not dramatic collapse, but the quiet, daily loss of passion, purpose, and self. It reflects the darker side of psychological burnout, where apathy masquerades as peace, and survival becomes indistinguishable from surrender.
 May 31 ghostsonpaper
Cadmus
I laughed - not for likes,
but because the sky was kind
and the breeze felt honest.

I wore comfort,
not costume,
and danced without a soundtrack.

No mirrors.
No filters.
Just me,
at ease in my skin,
and joy
quiet as a secret,
loud as my heart.
We spend so much of life performing for eyes that aren’t really watching, chasing applause that never feels quite enough. But real joy lives in the unscripted, in the quiet, barefoot moments where we belong wholly to ourselves. This poem is a reminder: not everything needs an audience to be beautiful.
 May 31 ghostsonpaper
Cadmus
🪔

I pretend I’m just fine

But your absence

Maps itself all over my face

Like shadow tracing bones.

🪔
Some losses don’t announce themselves with tears or noise , they settle into the contours of us, silently rewriting how the world reads our face.
 May 31 ghostsonpaper
Cadmus
Don’t believe the words I wrote
in that fleeting moment of storm,
about forgetting you.

They were born of hurt,
not truth.

My eternity,
still longs for you.

Even silence,
echoes your name.
Written in the quiet aftermath of a moment I mistook for closure. Sometimes, the heart speaks in contradiction before it finds its truth again.
 May 31 ghostsonpaper
T
Remember when I asked you for space?
But what I really wanted was you.
7 nights before,
You kissed me 3 times,
Under the purple moon.
Your eyes filled with tears
And mine did too.
We left it all in the past,
When we said goodbye too soon.
 May 31 ghostsonpaper
Cadmus
🎭

I
miss
the
time
when
my
smiles
were
real.

👺
This piece reflects the quiet resilience that grows in the shadow of sadness. It’s a reminder that even the faintest hope has the power to restore the sincerity of a smile.
 May 31 ghostsonpaper
Piyush
Hope is a lie,
It stays within a die.
No one sees it,
No one needs it,
Yet you feel it.
Your wounds plead it,
But you just bleed it.
Hide it, confide it,
Still, you seed it—
Cause you need it.

Don’t disturb her,
Don’t absorb her,
You don’t deserve her.
You hear it,
You bear it.
Don’t say it,
Just obey it.

You rely on others,
You cut your own feathers.
A lie it is,
Yeah, that’s all it is.
You want it—
But you already have it.
 May 31 ghostsonpaper
Lyle
we sat-
not in silence
but in words
and tears
"I have to leave.
She's making me crazy."

You had better not leave me.












"I won't."
 Apr 28 ghostsonpaper
lizie
body dysmorphia is a strange thing
it makes getting dressed hard
and loving your body even harder
yet i wish, in the darkest parts of me
that i have it—
if only to explain
why i look like this
Next page