اگزیستانسیال

i won't force you to believe cuz i'm too tired to believe in things that i myself don't.

every failure of my actions, reminds me of you.

every failure of my actions reminds me of you.

i don't want to be fixed. i had lost the desire to make things better. let it rot, it doesn't matter anyway anymore.

i look like a failure. in math, in cooking a cupcake, in exams, in social experiences, in petting a cat, in talking about how i feel, and in my life.

1:45 won't get me out of my grace⚠️.

i can tell you the attention of which you fish isn't coming. i see you clammer at a dead vine, there's no one online, sorry. you might need another update: fuck you, still okay, now what? it appears you hit a crossroad, as your whole outcome fails⚠️.

your eyelids getting heavy, not pulling me out of my grace. you feel no longer steady, but not wanting to give up. you're running out of pennies, no pulling me off my plain⚠️.

i need something irregular to feel that I'm alive, like the taste of blood in your mouth for no reason.

people come and go, but the version of myself that i had made for them will always stay with me.

there's a graveyard of some versions of myself in my heart, a mental hospital for some of them in my head, and a circus for the clown ones in the corner of my lungs.

there's so many versions of me in me that i myself sometimes don't know who they are and for whom they were designed.

idk if i am becoming someone new or just returning to my true self.

sever all threads. i’ve crawled out since then, you should know.

all the phantoms, how they brought the delirium? let it rot ☠️.