i wish you were a cloud swept away by the wind Until you found a quiet place to rest beside our home Life's road is rugged and we've wandered astray Memories linger, filling the faded screen of yesterday. In the melancholy dusk of the city, a lone cloud drifts into the distance. And i whisper a prayer for peace hoping it will remember us both.
I am a strange geometry, an abnormal shape in a world of right angles, trying to fit into a room that was never sketched with me in mind. I have learned the art of the inner hush. I built a cathedral of stillness, a mask forged from the heat of harsh words and the cold, clinical gaze of those who mistake "seeing" for "understanding." I thought I had become the stone. But in the hollow hours, when the clock stops, I feel it the sediment of everything that happened, a heavy, unmoving silt at the bottom of my soul. There are days I am a ghost before I am dead. I retreat into the marrow of the house, vanishing into the wallpaper, waiting to see if the air feels thinner without me. I wonder if the edge of a life is the only place where the light changes if they would finally read me not as a problem to be solved, but as a story that deserved to be heard. There is a dangerous, velvet thought that whispers of the end. It does not taste like terror; it tastes like the first deep breath after a thousand years of drowning. And that sweetness is what scares me most the realization that I am a cracked vessel, leaking a light I don’t know how to stop. I used to carry love like a holy thing. I thought someone would reach into the dark, find my hand, and choose to stay until the sun came up. But love has become a foreign tongue, a dialect spoken by everyone but me. I watch them move through it, while I stand on the far bank of the river, untouchable. I don’t always want the grave; I just want the vanishing. To be the smoke that leaves the fire. To see if the silence I leave behind has a shape that anyone would miss. Death is the only thing that asks for nothing. It does not demand a smile, or a reason, or a cure. And I carry the shame of that comfort like a hidden bruise. There are no marks on my skin to show you. Just this vast, internal distance the slow, steady lesson that I am a shore no one intends to reach. And God, that is the hurt that never finds its way home.
I’m thinking of you While I’m at my lowest What are you thinking right now? Are you feeling happy? Did you have a good day, Well I’m fine. Just feeling lonely. You know how much I love you ? From the moment you talked to me? You are…perfect, just the way you are. I found myself drawn in you. The way you talk, the way to express yourself. You understand me , no one has done that before. But reality sucks I will never have you, never. To you and to me , we’re just another page in our lives . But you made me what is it like to feel love again. How my broken heart found itself. But all of that just for being broken again. Do you feel the same? The ache , the pain, of being alone again and again? I Iove you and I loved you. Thank you for being a wholesome part of my life. I hope one day You’ll fine someone you love deeply Someone who makes you happy Someone who is better than me. I hope you’ll find happiness from someone who is not as broken as me. It’s time for me to make friend with loneliness again. I loved you
Death calls my name, as if it heard my prayer a prayer of one who wishes to die, to escape the endless ache of loneliness. They say mankind moves as one, but I was made for solitude. Heart shattered by the hands of someone I thought could be the one. Will I ever know happiness? Will I ever feel like them? Or will this loneliness devour me from within? Death waits patient, silent for this weary soul to surrender, to cradle me in eternal embrace. Oh, how beautiful life will seem when my time finally comes. I leave all behind and sink into darkness. When my soul departs my skin, when my body returns to the earth, I may be forgotten, but my spirit will know peace forever.
Beneath the pale grey sky I dreamt of your embrace. I still remember the path we used to walk, surrounded by the skeletal trees, but oddly comforting. Just like my soul. Memories of you calling back to me like a cold wind. Your eyes carried the unspoken thoughts, the smile seemed as if it’d tell an unforgettable story. If no one ever remember you. I will.
Born from Transylvanian fog, embraced by Death himself. A human, yet not fully human, walked this earth a frame like winter’s last branch, brittle and bare. Destined for life, but hollow inside. Eyes that seemed to witness the end of all things. A voice that reminded mortals of rot in its grave, melodies that carried you to forgotten cemeteries, dead forests where the cold wind cut your skin. He was Dead - not a name, but a being. To Death, he gave himself. From trauma he had died once, and longed to die again, to find peace. Pale skin etched with agony. Hands reached out, but all in vain, as if his fate was already written. In his own world, loneliness devoured him. At twenty-two full moons, he chose Transylvania where the fog could cradle his dead soul, where peace finally found him. “What you found was eternal death. No one will ever miss you.” – Pelle