You say, “Don’t hope—don’t dream too far,”
But skies still draw me with each star.
No promise made, no vow was set,
Yet somehow, hearts still learn regret.

They teach me not to wish or cling,
Then tempt me with a silver wing.
The universe first plants the seed,
Then punishes the very need.

So tell me—am I cursed or blind?
Or just a glitch in fate’s design?
I play a game I can’t outplay—
Taught not to hope, yet led that way.

-

I live in halves—of thought, of day,
Too close to stay, too far to stray.
The things I touch don’t feel quite real,
They vanish softly when I feel.

I watch the world but can’t step in,
A pane of glass beneath my skin.
I breathe, I blink, I even smile—
But never cross that final mile.

-

My thoughts are thin as folded lines,
Like fragile paper marked with signs.
They tear in wind, they burn in rain,
And never carry more than strain.

A hundred sheets inside my chest,
Each one unread, each one repressed.
They crumple under slightest care—
But still I keep them, always there.

-

The lake was still, not calm, but tired,
Its glassy face like light expired.
I watched the ripples try to form,
But even wind had lost its storm.

No fish, no song, no buzzing wings,
Just water weighed with silent things.
It didn’t ask for me to stay—
But I stayed there anyway.

-

A thread hangs loose beneath my skin,
Unseen by all, but deep within.
It tugs sometimes with little pain,
Enough to know it’s not in vain.

I try to pull, I try to tie,
But don’t know where or even why.
It’s just a thread—but still it takes
A piece of me each time it shakes.

-

I know I saw the hill, the tree—
But now it all just blurs for me.
The outlines shift, the colors bend,
And even thought begins to end.

A name I knew, a sound I said—
They ghost away inside my head.
The blur is slow, but creeping near—
And I can’t hold what once was clear.

-

Each joy I drink slips through the glass,
It spills before the moment’s passed.
I pour again, and raise it high,
But never reach the reason why.

It isn't thirst that drives me on,
Just echoes of a sweetness gone.
The cup looks full to all but me—
Yet always drains invisibly.

-

At first, I mourned what slipped away—
The spark, the weight, the need to stay.
But now I sit in thoughtless gray,
Where nothing calls and none betray.
I used to ache for who I was,
But now I only pause—because
To vanish slow is not to die,
But watch yourself forget the “why.”

-

My thoughts are thin as folded lines,
Like fragile paper marked with signs.
They tear in wind, they burn in rain,
And never carry more than strain.

A hundred sheets inside my chest,
Each one unread, each one repressed.
They crumple under slightest care—
But still I keep them, always there.

-

I drift beneath the crushing blue,
Where sound and memory withdraw too.
No pulse but tide, no thought but weight,
A quiet deeper than the state.
The world above has thinned to myth,
Its warmth a song I drowned beneath.
Here, time forgets to rise or fall—
I am the hush that holds it all.

-