Think I have to make
my own world.
Yeah.
Build it from dust and delusion.
From everything I’ve lost
And everything they said I’d never hold.
Create what I think is light
and darkness.
Because tonight?
I just saw a spider
catching a ghost.
And my heart
my dumb, poetic heart
soared.
Not from wonder.
But from the wickedness of this whole damn world.
This cursed carousel of hurt.
And I thought
“I can’t wait for it to be over.”
So I can make a toast
To surviving.
To still breathing
with a cracked-open chest.
My heart… my heart
Got stung.
Filled with shadows,
Like it swallowed a thousand black suns.
My heart… my heart
Keeps washing off like sand on a beach
Every wave?
A thief.
Stealing pieces of me.
My heart… my heart
I think I’ll turn it off.
Unplug it.
Mute the noise.
Put it on airplane mode
so it don’t catch feelings.
My heart… my heart
Now fades,
Because it’s not a heart anymore.
It’s a ghost.
And not the kind that haunts.
The kind that weeps.
Silently.
Inside a ribcage turned graveyard.
But if I must make a world
If I must sculpt something out of this chaos
Then let the soil be scarred,
Let the sky be stitched with memory.
Let rivers carry pain,
But let the mountains?
Let the mountains echo poetry.
Let the wind hum verses
From every part of me I had to bury.
Let the light be crooked.
Not perfect.
Just honest.
Let the darkness be mine.
At least then,
I know where it came from.
And when I raise my glass
It won’t be for love lost.
It won’t be for them.
It won’t even be for hope.
It’ll be for me.
For the mess.
For the maker
Of a dawn
That still rises
Even after
The ghost in me sleeps.
"If this made your chest ache, leave a comment. Let’s mourn, rise, and write our own worlds from the ruins."
