Individual poems
The lines on my hands tell the story of time, But inside, I wonder if they even know. The years have passed, but Im still the same, Still chasing the truth of what Ive become. I feel like a child, pretending to stand, Afraid that my life is just slipping away.
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The lines on my hands, theyre deep and worn, But still, I feel like Im lost and torn. I wonder if Ive made my mark, Or if Im just stumbling in the dark.
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The ripple effect of kindness The Ripple Effect of Kindness A hand extended in quiet offering, No grand applause, no spotlights shine. Yet in the stillness, something profound, The fragile thread of humanity found. The first gesture seems so small, so slight, Yet it cracks the edges of endless night. The world stretches wide in
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The art ive created, the life i have built, The art Ive created, the life I have built, Is covered in rust, and Im drowning in guilt. I try to stand tall, but Im crumbling inside, The weight of this life is too much to hide.
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The fridge is empty, and the milks gone bad, The laundrys piled up, its making you mad. The cars out of gas, the bills overdue, Its the apocalypse, just not the one you knew.
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The Rusted Past In the dim, forgotten corners of an old, creaking library, where dust particles waltzed lazily in the slanting beams of sunlight, I unearthed something extraordinary. As a historian, I was no stranger to sifting through weathered texts and handling artifacts that had long relinquished their stories. Yet, this discovery promised to be
The Rusted Veins I never imagined that something as mundane as a skin ailment could unravel the very essence of my existence. But that’s precisely what happened when I first noticed the strange, rust-like patterns creeping across my skin. My name is Arthur, and this is the tale of how these bizarre markings became a
The Patina of Life Gather close, and let me share a story of a life marred by time’s relentless touch. My name is Evelyn Harper, and I was once a alive artist—a beacon of color and creativity in a world that has now dulled with age. This tale is of my final battle with time,
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The Patina of Time The ticking of clocks has always been my heartbeat, the rhythm that guides me through the maze of existence. I’m Oliver Gray, a watchmaker who revels in the elegance of timepieces and the secrets they harbor. My workshop, a haven of ticking gears and polished brass, is where I’ve spent countless
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Tech support therapy, where patience goes to die, Talking to scripts, while youre asking why. They speak in codes, youre lost in the fray, But theres no escape, its your digital D-Day.
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