Backyard

would you like to use my @xtickerzbot ✌️🏼 just created this sit 🪑

Yes I judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree

I judge the fish by the tree, call its drowning incompetence, then crown myself wise for inventing the ladder. I measure wings by how well they kneel, call silence a failure to speak, and name my cruelty a standard.

I arrived late to my funeral. The flowers were already tired, the candles had forgotten what they were burning for, and someone was crying beside a photograph I don't remember taking. They said I was a good man. I almost interrupted them. The coffin was closed, which felt rude. I wanted to see who they had buried. So I asked the priest if the dead ever get to attend their own endings. He looked at me the way people look at questions they have already buried. I came back the next morning. The flowers were gone. The photograph was different. The coffin had my name again. But this time everyone was crying for someone else. I began to wonder if I was dying or simply arriving too late to every version of myself. By the seventh funeral I stopped asking who was inside. By the twelfth I recognized the face. By the twentieth I was the one giving the eulogy. I told them he had spent his whole life trying to become someone worth remembering. Then I looked down. There were flowers in my hands. I don't remember buying them.

Guys I've OCD can I get 713 subs and fix this odd subscribers number

water is wrong too thick it keeps me or i keep it hard to hold the thought there is something pale pressing above not light just pressure it drinks through threads through me i remember hands no i remember forgetting them fingers went soft first then names then the need to belong to a face eyes stayed shouldn’t have they didn’t close they melted inward now something moves through one slow like it was always meant to pass not seeing not knowing just entering i try to rise i don’t the pond holds its breath or maybe i am the breath something above trembles not wind something like grief stuck halfway it wants to stay clean it keeps taking me mist thickens or i spread no depth no surface just this just staying too long just rot learning how to look through me through what used to see as if i never stopped

should I be consistent? (No right?)

from 500 to 281 this channel has seen true downfall Icarus must be proud!! or maybe not 💃

anyone up?

empty within… this heart of mine no ink enough to fill it, none to drive away the dark such weight upon my eyelids, as though the world rests on them an atheist I was, yet now… O God, I leave myself to you I have done nothing in life, and yet it feels as though all is spent, nothing remains a worshipper of art, I call myself a creator—yet I have created nothing with a petty mind I set out to measure the world so ignorant, yet eager to offer wisdom to all so indolent am I, I cannot walk on my own feet I move, instead, leaning upon others and yet, I have arrived somewhere… from here, I can see the sun perhaps it will bring a dawn I am empty within… perhaps it will chase away this darkness

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let me cry a little leave it, laughing feels more appropriate after all, it’s all just a joke this country, its system, its education, its ministers all of it is just a joke children getting beaten is a joke their future crying on the streets is a joke this country is a joke where asking questions is a crime where asking for rights gets you beaten where journalists’ bodies lie like discarded beggars there, children’s future, government accountability, corruption, all of it is just a joke come, let’s laugh together at ourselves, at the state of this country let’s laugh at our helplessness, laugh at their tyranny, laugh a little louder maybe if not the crying, they’ll hear the laughter why not wrap money around ourselves like clothing, maybe then they’ll notice us they sit too high, it takes time for voices to reach them so until then, let’s just laugh a little after all, it’s all just a joke

There is a wall. In its corner, a spider’s web, paint peeling, a ceiling damp with quiet decay. There is a wall. Long cracks running everywhere, sunlight slipping through them, trying to look inside. Still it's standing, holding the ceiling above its head. There is a wall. Between self-respect and the weight of being looked down on. Between peace of mind and the echo of people laughing. Between a life that could feel enough and the ones who keep tightening the grip. There is a wall. It’s the wall of my house.

Yo guys I've out their doing so many side hustles One of them was making bots here in telegram So like I've been working on a bot it's been few days it's a ai detector an an reverse image search Image search is but buggy right now but I'll fix it soon but that's not the case I actually want you to text its ai detection like who most likely it's accuracy scale is It's the name of @Neuralyzerbot and yeah test it out you can give your feedback to me through ananoymus bot the link Must be somewhere in this channel I don't know

Ocean of tears dried when the lotus within it died

the blanket doesn’t warm the same anymore it just sits on me like it knows something I don’t say out loud I keep pulling it closer anyway like that might fix it the ceiling has this crack I’ve been following it for days now it splits into two near the corner like it couldn’t decide which way to break funny thing is I remember when I used to look up here and feel… nothing just a ceiling now it feels like it’s watching me stall there’s an old tyre outside leaning against the wall been there long enough to forget what it was meant for I think about that more than I should how something made to move can just… stay and no one questions it after a while I don’t talk much these days not because there’s nothing to say just feels like words come with consequences and silence doesn’t ask for anything back there are things I’ve done small things the kind you can explain if you get the time I always get the explanation ready after before that it’s just instinct or maybe habit I used to think I was careful turns out I’m just good at arranging things so they don’t look like they’re mine and somehow that makes it easier to sleep or at least lie down without arguing with myself sometimes I try to remember when things felt lighter not better just… less attached now everything sticks a little memories, people, even small decisions they don’t leave when they’re done they stay like that tyre leaning waiting for a purpose that doesn’t come back I don’t think I’m a bad person that would be too simple it’s more like I know exactly where I fall short and I’ve learned how to stand just beside it close enough to see it far enough to say it’s not me and the worst part is that almost feels honest until it happens again and I recognize it midway this time and still don’t stop the blanket slips a little I pull it back up like that’s something I still have control over it usually is just not much else

Some rules come early. You don’t remember choosing them. There was a crossing I used to pass by. A few planks over a break in the ground, edges worn smooth. Someone had carved a warning into the wood. It had faded, but it stayed. A bird kept to that spot most days. If anything came close when the water pushed higher, it would step forward, just enough to make them stop. One afternoon, something small came up the path. Thin, restless, moving like it had somewhere to be. It stepped onto the plank, slow, testing it. The bird moved once. That was enough. The animal turned back without a word. It felt settled. Nothing unusual about it. Later, the water rose a little. Same place, same marking, same boards underfoot. The bird crossed first. No one was there to watch it happen.