glittering garbage
الذهاب إلى القناة على Telegram
Basically, my brain's trash bin but sparkly. Disclaimer: not a writer or a philosopher, still acts like one. Rot your brain here— https://t.me/royal_shits Stalk me here— https://t.me/not_so_coool
إظهار المزيدلم يتم تحديد البلدالكتب23 831
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المشتركون
لا توجد بيانات24 ساعات
-117 أيام
-730 أيام
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| التاريخ | نمو المشتركين | الإشارات | القنوات | |
| 08 سبتمبر | +1 | |||
| 07 سبتمبر | 0 | |||
| 06 سبتمبر | +1 | |||
| 05 سبتمبر | 0 | |||
| 04 سبتمبر | +2 | |||
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| 01 سبتمبر | 0 |
منشورات القناة
and like a bird raised in a golden cage,
adored, fed, loved well,
never learned the shape of the sky,
yet in its heart, it yearns.
we humans,
long for a place we don't know yet,
carrying within our hearts
the memory of wings we cannot see.
| 2 | You see, every story is woven with love.
You fall, break, bloom, keep moving, love carries the thread.
What if there is none? You have no love even for yourself?
I sit in the middle of my void of dreams.
I no longer care who i am, as long as i can avoid the mirror.
Whenever i look at my clock, the “now” keeps turning “later”,
as if i do not exist in the present.
I used to wait; every passing moment seemed an omen.
I dreamt and longed, wondering when the love i had conjured would return.
Finally— by the time i was drained of love, i stopped waiting.
It was too late to learn that all that love had been meant to go to the one in the mirror.
Then i wouldn't remain time-stilled in lethargy. | 113 |
| 3 | me presuming everyone's pretentious because I am pretentious or they really are?
me evaluating to the point of ruining relationships is just my paranoia or my personality? | 150 |
| 4 | Every dusk will write new storylines
in everyone's life.
By dawn, we will rise with fresh light by our windows.
Inside our hearts, we are still holding yesterday's glow.
Those who broke are hiding shadows.
With the blank page, things might happen—
another wound, another smile,
and some things we shall change.
Time may not heal our wounds;
it will overlay them for sure. | 181 |
| 5 | After suffering and struggling through what felt like forever, I reached the brink of despair. I've always prevented my fall somehow, with all my strength,
but this time, I grew frustrated,
declawed my fangs, and fell into alluring despondency, and to my astonishment the abyss was not dark and terrifying. What I saw was the brightest light and relief— I can always climb up. | 322 |
| 6 | anyway, how's my channels pfp? | 331 |
| 7 | sorry for the disturbance | 272 |
| 8 | لا يوجد نص... | 0 |
| 9 | لا يوجد نص... | 0 |
| 10 | a child free from the ache of nostalgia | 360 |
| 11 | The forlorn child with wanhope eyes:
Time ferried her from space to space;
she couldn't belong to any of those places,
and so she never whined,
grew accustomed the quickest.
As seasons folded into one another,
she tucked away her memories
in the webbed corner of her psyche.
And the murky path she left behind
kept turning stygian dark. | 452 |
| 12 | I have something to say regarding channel promotions:
I've been receiving around 2–4 promotional requests every month. If I start accepting them, I'll likely get even more requests. So, I won't be accepting promotional requests.
However, I'm open to cross-promotions if our channels have a similar content or theme. That way, it benefits both of us by helping our channels reach a wider audience. It can be done through channel's DM, my DM or anony messenger.
Conditions:
1. The promotional post will be deleted after a pre-agreed number of views.
2. I won't accept AI slops unless it's mentioned in the promotional message. | 309 |
| 13 | you kiss my lips
until they crack
lick my steel blood
hoping you could
taste my crimson. | 408 |
| 14 | An utterly unfortunate child,
toiling in the dirt of her misery,
watches the sleek world swiftly moving
farther and farther away
while she ponders whether she can escape.
A few nodding acquaintances glanced her way,
scoffing without slowing their steps:
"How pathetic! These kinds love to stay worthless."
Somehow, the blame was hers to bear.
She tries to rise,
but a child so unaware, how much can she do?
And she falls violently onto despondency.
She scrapes out every tiny hope
from that dark, damp ground
to rise back up,
but falls once again, this time a little more gently.
However, the endless falling has broken her few bones,
making her wonder if she is broken,
or if she belongs in the mud.
Now she understands
why they
say we choose the mud
because it hurts more and more
Even so, they say those who persist
will eventually triumph.
She wipes her tears yet again.
But how many more attempts?
Can she overcome,
before she has broke all her bones? | 425 |
| 15 | I believed growing up would instinctively grow callouses around my heart, that fire would no longer reach it.
But look at me. I'm burning with blue, red, and green fires; with flames I never imagined could exist. | 308 |
| 16 | Whatever I say is an altered truth and a performance. I am never completely honest, not even in this, nor in anything I've ever written. I don't know if I'm writing with any duplicitous, calculating, delusive escapist intentions, or not. If you want my sincerity, you'll have to hold onto something inside me that even I can't reach for. | 319 |
| 17 | let's share our first crush stories♡
they say your first love never works out... what happened to yours? (let there be as many stories as there are views) | 359 |
| 18 | share your most repeated song | 377 |
| 19 | share your most repeated songs— | 1 |
| 20 | What have I become? So apathetic and detached from my own self.
Had I grown tired of both loving and loathing myself? Or had I spent too long trying to make sense of myself?
The clock inside me has stopped, and my heart works like an engine; all its voices have been lost.
While I stand among the moving and the living, I reach out my hand, yet feel not a single breath. | 475 |
