This story is about a creature that does it's best to please everyone, yet has no one to depend on. Creature is all alone in a world full of people it helps. Trigger warning: !!!!! SUICIDE WARNING MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME VIEWERS !!!!!

This is a poem about my story. It's about how everyone else never sees the real me. I have been just surviving pretty much my entire life, so I wanted to express how that usually goes with the rest of the world. I struggle to open up about the real me, so it's as if I am just faking everything most of the time, but that's how I keep myself from losing more people.

This stage in life was promised to me by the older women of my youth, the confidence that I searched for then, is only earned through time.

This world, it defies every law of physics I can think of, even quantum mechanics I hear my name Spoken in a thousand voices– But also, one Muffled, barely there, unable to cross the emptiness of space, but only muffled by the thick waters These worlds, overlapped

Winter is one of my favorite months, but this year i5 is colder than I remember. It's terrifying how much can change within a year

Everyday I wonder more and more if I was made to be loved, will I ever be ok. Will my mind stop deteriorating, will I stop ripping my own heart to pieces? Vomit will cover my bathroom floor

Only in death will you find blood, maggots and the stink of a dead body beautiful. The decompression on a living being will only server in your nightmares (Art done by me)

Sonnet with rhyming scheme. 14-line poem with a strict rhyme scheme and meter, traditionally expressing a single idea and often concluding with a shift in thought. The two main types are the Shakespearean (or English) sonnet, with three quatrains and a final couplet (rhyme scheme ABAB CDCD EFEF GG)

Ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted to fall in love. I don't need someone in my life, I can give myself everything. But, it would be nice.

My poem about projecting my trauma on my cousin and realizing that I messed up. But also learning from it and promising to fix it unlike the person who broke me.

Here you go for the people who can't move on to the next day let us move to the next day with you God bless you and everyone else

I hope this helps people through dark times and I hope you have a good life and live long and have a good rest of your day

My mother was very emotionally abusive towards me, and because of that I fantasized about killing her (thankfully things are slowly getting better). this poem represents the quiet hatred I experienced through life. trigger warning for this one.

this is a "letter" I wrote for a friend that ended up ghosting me for no reason. You might read this and go "wow this guy is overreacting" and perhaps you're right, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm a sensitive guy and extremely mentally ill. If you claim to be a friend then ghost me without explanation, you better believe that will break my mind.

y'all will look at this and go "what the fuck?" But you know what? y'all won't get any context from me. figure this out yourselves.

I’m learning to let you go, but the mind holds on to what the heart once trusted. Some nights, I still wonder if I was a choice… or just a beautiful distraction.

Following the burnout comes the freeze. This entry conducts a forensic audit of the "Apathetic Hell"—a state of "adamantine" (unbreakable) indecision. It explores the "incapacitating cell" where the self is trapped between "inertial insouciance" and the desperate need for movement. It documents the "alchemic machinations" required to mobilize the will against the "flagitious verity" of stagnation.

Before the assassination of the self is complete, there is often a flash of blinding overload. This entry documents the mechanics of "Empathia"—the raw, unprotected ability to feel—and how it is inevitably "enervated" by the demands of others. It analyzes the transition from "seraphic candescence" to a necessary, strategic numbness. Here, apathy is not a failure of feeling, but a defensive "ploy" constructed to survive the "imperial divine."

If "Headshots" was the attack, this entry is the post-production. It analyzes how the "Lens of Obscurism" is used to crop reality. It documents the refusal to be the "subject" of someone else's distorted portfolio, finding "refulgence" (brilliance) in the messy, unedited self.

Addiction is a linguistic trap as much as a chemical one. This entry explores the "oxymoron" of the addict's logic—where destruction feels like safety, and sobriety feels like anthema. It documents the cycle of "apostasy" (falling off the wagon) and the terrifying realization that sobriety requires the one thing the assassin fears most: self-actualization.