i was lost there once
begging to not exist
stayed there for months
looking for an exit

honestly, it was more than once
that i lived there
more than months
more like ten years

i hate that my adolescence
was wasted wanting to die
back then i had no sense
that’s when i started to lie

now when the dark
tries to swallow me
i look at every mark
and my heart won’t allow me

*In response to Darkness.

A Story (a poem)

I couldn’t tell it all in a note,
so I wrote it in a book.
Why would I say goodbye,
when my story’s unfinished?
Invading my thoughts.
Not as something to commit,
but as something to study.
You can’t ask them why they did it.
Only those who attempt or ideate give reasons.
That isn’t proof at all.
No conclusions can be drawn.
We are the only ones who can tell our own stories.
Can a single page really say enough?