I don’t want to die,
I want to cease to exist.
To never have been born
And never have lived
For my soul and body to disappear
For any memory of me to be gone
To dissolve into nothingness and
Never have been anything at all

BY A BOY WHO CHOSE SOLITUDE

I never craved penthouses kissing the clouds,
nor mansions where silence feels cold.
I worked through storms,
not to rise above the world—
but to step away from its roar.

All I ever wanted
was a wooden hut in the hills—
where rivers laugh like children,
where the wind hums forgotten songs,
where rain feels like the sky washing off
what hurt the most.

The sun…
a father’s hand on my shoulder.
The moon…
a mother watching over dreams.

In cities, I wandered,
craving their lights,
but never their noise.
I loved them—
the quiet ones, the old ones,
where people moved like whispers.

But even there,
I couldn’t find the silence
that lets you hear yourself think.
So I built it—
in my mind first,
then in the earth beneath my feet.

Why?

Because I needed a place
where my voice echoes back to my ears,
so I know I still exist.
So I know I still feel.

I am tired of competition.
Of proving.
Of performing.
I want a life like a straight line—
not because it's boring,
but because it's honest.

And love?
I stopped chasing it.
Because no one holds hearts like I do.
And mine—
it’s not made for games.

It's fragile.
Like sunlight on still water.
It breaks quietly.

So I gave it back to the only hands
that never dropped it—
my own.

In solitude,
I found my teacher.
My shelter.
My self.

Now I know what I want.
Now I know who I am.
And when I sit, alone, under the rain,
I don’t feel empty—

I feel home.

My fear is you
It is rare
But when it is me
It is true
My fear is me
It is rare
But when it is you
It is true

I am still a work on
progress,                                                        ­                      
                                          ­                                                                 ­       
some mistakes but no
regrets                                                          ­              
                                                  ­                                                            
Pushed myself through the
unknown,                                                         ­       
                                                                ­                                                 
 proud of this person &, how I've
  grown                                                         ­     
  I hold my head up, stand up
  straight                                                      ­                      
                                                                ­                                                  
doing my best, no inner debates                                                          ­            
                                                    ­                                                                
No excuses made as I forge ahead                                                      
                                                                ­                                        
Learning & changing everyday                                                         ­                 
                                                                ­                                              
loving myself, I'm on my way

Waiting for the one,
Single perfect moment when I,
Finally, feel free.

When I breathe and it,
Feels like I am alive and,
Everything is fine.

When that moment comes,
Appreciation will spread,
Smiling happily.

The mediocre march into oblivion
while watching Tik Tok videos
and never reading a
book or writing a
poem.
They don't know
the difference between
an orchid or an iris.

The mediocre march into
madness sleeping until
noon, while neglecting
Bukowski and Mozart.
They don't know how
to play an instrument.
No idea what a C
major chord is.
But they know all
the emojis.
The sad sheep masses
don't
know the difference
between a Van Gogh or
Monet painting, and a
digital reproduction on
a coffee cup.
Their phones look
like grotesque growths
attached to their ears.
Everyone should
contribute to the
cosmic dance,
Carpe Diem
*******!

Grain soaked in salt spray
Yet firm beneath the feet,
Find reasons for best salvation
The second ship scuttled
So, then, stand a third.
         A fourth.

Halted in haploid afterglow
A single heritage, halted ambition.
One path to a keystone past
Tethered to the tossing waves.

In your heart the hardest rains;
a springtime tempest made of weapon-weather

The whale's road you wander,
Searching for slumbering reasons;
I name you "Somnambulist."
Asleep in the dreaming, but weakened awake.

Ghosts and beasts know--both aware of your diploid scheming
Two paths to ******* dreaming
Twin protrusions in fate's firm fist
And deepest waters crash and strike
against smallest frames, the quivering wave oak.

Each one alone among the swan-way's waves.
Same way as in wending through life.
              Just as in dying