CHANGETOPIC

THOUGHTS ARE MY COMPANION

LONELINESS IF MY PARTNER.

Once more, I retreat to this desolate sanctuary—the only place where I am permitted to shatter. It is here that I explode, a silent detonation of the soul, only to begin the grueling task of gathering the shards. But with every reconstruction, the geometry is wrong. I return to a familiar silhouette, yet I am lighter in all the wrong ways; fragments of my essence are left behind in the debris, torn away by the sheer velocity of my own despair. I am a sculpture being carved away by its own creator, and I fear the original stone is almost gone.

I crave the "Life" they speak of—a blinding, iridescent vitality that makes the heart race with anticipation rather than dread. I long to stand at the precipice of the human experience and feel the exhilaration of the descent, believing, with a child’s conviction, that there is light at the end of the tunnel.

But the "manifesting" and the "wishful thinking" are merely ghost stories we tell the grieving. The reality is a brutal architecture of misery, a labyrinth of self-abandonment where the walls are built from frustration and the floor is a bottomless well of questioning: *Why continue the pulse when the rhythm is nothing but pain?*

They told me the world is a mirror, that I would receive the light I projected. I offered my most authentic self—a vessel of unalloyed compassion and optimism—only to find that my light merely served to guide a predator to my door. I gave the best of me to a masquerade, and in return, I was hollowed out by a master of shadows.

Now, I am an exile in my own skin. Sleep is no longer a reprieve; it is a stranger that refuses to recognize me. I avoid my own reflection, for the eyes that stare back are vacant windows into a house that has been looted. When I smile, it is a desperate forgery, a momentary mask worn to stave off the vertigo of my own disappearance.

I am exhausted beyond the capacity of rest. The definitions of "safety" and "love" have been erased from my vocabulary, replaced by a cold, humming static. I remain a biological fact, breathing and enduring, but the fire is out. I am a living monument to a life that has already left.

It damages me more than feeling better about life, people & situations.

It’s my era of “Good to know” but I’d rather protect my inner peace and mental health.

“I AM NO LONGER FOR EVERYONES CONSUMPTION “

Nothing.

No text. No messages. No nothing.

People lie and they think they’ll be forgiven.

People lie and they think they can get away with it.

People lie and they think nothings going to happen.

People lie and pretend they didn’t.

DEPRESSING BDAY

Nothing to celebrate cause I got tired of hyping myself. When the only person you’re hoping to greet u was asleep & lied to me about a very petty shit “all purpose spray “

What I hate the most is people lying in my face. Im just waiting for the right time to confront & yeap she still lied.

But I can’t be wishing anymore right?

So I am taking back MYSELF!!!!! and I dont give a motherfucker about you!!!

I no longer want to be a part of a toxic person. I want my peace and prosperity back. The disruption caused me more than my health and peace, it cost me my life.

I do not wish to be part of their lies. The endless cycle of pretentiousness and pettiness.