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I cannot soften every road you walk, nor chase away every shadow but if your hands reach into emptiness, if your heart aches in silence, if the world ever forgets to be kind, know that somewhere, I am aching too, wishing only to hold you when nothing else does.
#Abdo
After a lie,
every truth feels like a gamble.
Like trying to drink from a broken glass—
you know it might cut you,
but you're still thirsty for honesty.
So ask me why it’s so hard to trust.
Ask me why “I promise”
sounds like noise now,
why I reread old conversations,
why I stay quiet in rooms
where I once felt safe.
I learned to heal
without pretending I was fine,
without forcing a laugh
to fill the silence.
I sat with the emptiness,
let the loneliness breathe,
and realized being alone
is better than feeling alone
around people who don’t care.
Because when I needed them most,
they left.
When my hands shook,
when my voice cracked,
when I had nothing to give—
they disappeared.
And I will never forget
what it felt like
to type a long message
and delete it
because I already knew the reply
would be short.
I will never forget
what it felt like
to sit in a crowded room
but feel invisible.
To be there for everyone
and watch no one
show up for me.
But that’s how it goes.
They don’t notice when you stop texting first.
They don’t wonder why you’re quieter now.
They don’t miss you—
until they need something.
Until they realize the energy feels different,
until they scroll past your name
and hesitate before reaching out.
And by then,
you've already learned
how to live without them.
~Thoughtless
As a reminder of my demise, your smile comes with a knife.
You hold me gently, or so you say, and you carve that gentleness onto my soul.
You show me how I'm lost, and you tell me, kindly; or so you say,
That I'm not alone.
#random
#SammyScribble
You were always meant to arrive
before I could name you,
I saw you—
in the hazy delirium
of midnight visions,
in the gold-spun horizon where dreams dissolve into dawn.
I reached for you with hands that had never touched you,
whispered your name before I knew it,
and when you came—
I did not gasp in wonder.
I only sighed,
as if I had been waiting for centuries
for the moment you would finally step into my waking world.
"I want to feel the wind."
"But it's right outside, roaming the grounds at sunset. It's out there, flirting with the branches and stealing kisses from the leaves."
I want to feel the wind when I'm as light as those leaves it adores—when my mind doesn't weigh twice my body, and I can finally speak the language of the breeze and listen to the lore of the seven seas: the salty air it sped through and the hundreds of moonlit skies it adorned. I want to feel the wind."
I’ve learned how to exist
without ever being seen.
A different face for every room
sweetness for strangers,
kindness for lovers,
emptiness for myself.
I have been everything
they wanted me to be—
and nothing I could live with.
To let them not know,
The ocean of words within me,
That remained unspoken.
The wave of feelings within me,
That my aching heart cannot refuse.
I dropped my pen, dried the ink,
Disabled the keyboard on my phone.
Hid the soul behind the screen,
So they can only know and see
My sealed lips and shackled hands,
Obeying their rules, resisting no evil—
That are interpreted as new laws,
Established as customs, in the land.
In a wrecked land with a tattered conscience.
Though acceptance is cruel, I still hope—
Gathering the fragments of the self, embracing silence,
Until values, morals, and justice illuminate,
Rising from the darkness that prevails.
To fulfill the promise—The promise of Tomorrow.
where my words will no longer be caged,
where silence will not be my only refuge.
Where voices rise, unbound and fierce,
To conquer freedom, to attain the peace.
26-02-2025 ~DM
There is no destination.
Only thresholds that dissolve the moment you step through,
only horizons that retreat the closer you reach.
To chase completion is to chase a mirage—
a cruel alchemy of longing and illusion.
Perhaps the wise do not seek arrival,
but learn to make peace with perpetual becoming.
#fallacy
You wish to see the poet recite his poems, to hear him stammer on his words. You wish to see the artist painting on the canvas, to notice the mess of colors staining his hands. Somehow, it comforts you—to see humanity’s imperfections laid bare before your eyes, before you can fully absorb the beauty born of those very imperfections.
Читать полностью…
Man is not a single note;
he is a symphony of contradictions,
a song composed of both sin and sorrow.
I have seen the same hands
that caressed a lover’s face
curl into fists against a stranger’s jaw.
I have seen lips that spoke honeyed words
twist into cruel smirks
as they whispered the kind of truths
that taste like arsenic.
We kiss with mouths that have cursed.
We embrace with arms
that have known the weight of violence.
We call ourselves good,
but only in the moments
we choose to remember.
Tell me, do our sins disappear
when no one is watching?
Or do they sleep beneath our skin,
waiting to be woken
by the wrong kind of moonlight?
All that moves is dead inside, it's the art that lives forever...
#life
#short
- D's diary
I stole a handful of midnight,
wrung the ocean of its quietest sorrows,
hung them in confession around your neck—
now even the waves kneel when you pass.
~ MayanЧитать полностью…
Yes, we changed.
We changed when we gave too much and got nothing back,
when we checked on everyone, but no one asked if we were okay,
when we stayed up late to comfort others,
but cried ourselves to sleep alone.
We changed when we realized that effort is not love,
that people will take and take if we keep giving,
that some friendships fade when we stop being useful,
that some relationships only last as long as we are convenient.
We changed when we got tired—
tired of apologizing for being too much or too little,
tired of sending the first text,
tired of making excuses for people who wouldn’t make time for us.
We changed when we learned that silence says more than words,
that distance reveals who truly cares,
that love should never feel like begging,
that people don’t lose us—they let us go.
We changed when we started choosing ourselves,
when we stopped trying to fix what was breaking us,
when we realized that our own peace was worth more
than any forced connection.
We changed because we had to.
Because the weight of expectations was too heavy,
because no one ever asked what we needed,
because we got tired of being strong for everyone else.
Yes, we changed.
Not because we wanted to,
but because we finally realized—
we were never meant to stay the same.
~Thoughtless
It fizzes, then clears,
spirals, then settles—
Yearning for the sky,
fearing the earth.
Dreaming in chapters,
dreading the end,
torn between two:
normalcy and defiance.
To conform,
or to surrender
to the sweetness of dreams—
and die, a martyr.
The sun hurries to witness
the tale the moon told
of the boy who sways
the poles of a metronome.
”The Hubris of Permanence“
Is it truly death they fear,
or the disintegration of self-importance?
They tread through existence,
erecting fragile monoliths of legacy,
believing their names will reverberate
through epochs,
as if permanence were a birthright
and not a delusion.
Yet, history erodes with precision,
turning emperors into footnotes,
turning scholars into misattributed quotes.
If even the architects of civilizations
succumb to oblivion,
why do they assume exemption?
Do they fear death,
or do they fear the realization
that they were never essential to the narrative?
To remember is to resurrect,
to drag the past gasping into the present.
Some things are not meant to be held,
yet we clutch them like relics,
bleeding from the sharp daggers of yesterday.
I won't speak of horrors from other realms.
I won't whisper fears of another plane of life.
But the red, glaring eyes of envy,
the sharp edges of a broken heart,
and the poison it brews—
humanity's spiral into madness.
The twisted thoughts of the idle,
the cursed twin of high society's expectations,
lurking under the skin of the refined.
Blood-curdling voices, laced with honey,
polished with butter,
that you wouldn't guess belong to a wolf.
Oh, the world is full of horrors.
Why leave ours, searching for another?
Is it normal for my head to ache, always?
For my heart to be set ablaze?
"You always wear that face,"
"Why are you angry at everything, always?"
My blood keeps boiling, my tears keep staining this face.
Is it my fault that I can’t keep up with the race?
– Iris
My night has just begun, the moon stole a glimpse of the sun.
In my night, roam the hungry beasts, swallowing up the princes of your tale, and marring the pretty faces of the princesses.
My night,
Is no happy ever after.
#random
#SammyScribble
"Maybe a few drops of blood won’t suffice,
To nourish the tulip we long to foster.
So let’s bleed like a crimson waterfall,
Carving our own path through the rocks,
And surrender ourselves to nature,
Until we finally reach our tulip."
#Tulip
I want to live by your name
And die in your name.
But for the life of me
I cannot seem to get trust to cross my heart.
I want to abide by you
Let you be the ruler,
The king and the guide,
But for the life of me,
I cannot seem to get trust to cross over my heart.
Just stuck with a broken arrow.
Aimed rather foolishly in my general direction,
A lucky shot at best.
A beginner's luck, I bet.
#Penny_for_your_thoughts?
I could hear any music,
their sultry lyrics rhyming with the beats,
their falling and rising pitch
ushering my feet to sway,
wondering if I'd ever find a symphony
that feels like my own to submerge in,
have its rhythm dip in my soul
and lull my thoughts to sleep,
I seek its dreamy softness,
to thrive along this loudness,
its distinct melody
to make me aware of my heart,
I push aside along the day,
I could hear songs at every turn I make,
but I seek that slow and gentle symphony
I can call my home.
#music
#metaphorical
I can stitch every wound of your soul even if it requires me to bare open my heart,
I can kiss every scar on your body even if it requires my lips to be drenched in venom,
But only if my presence meant anything to you.Читать полностью…
"When a Poet Dies"
A poet never fades,
Only their body turns to dust.
Their words—pieces of a soul,
Waiting to be found, waiting to be felt.
If silence comes,
It won’t be the end.
The words will breathe again,
In someone else's aching hands.
One day, someone will stare into the mirror
And find my words staring back—
A reflection of all I was,
Living in the ink, never truly gone.
And then, a new poet will be born,
Bleeding the same truth,
Keeping the world alive,
Keeping it real.
#whispers
"Suspense is the beauty of life"
Imagine knowing everything—
every turn before it bends,
every whisper before it's spoken,
every ending before the story begins.
Would you still walk forward,
if nothing could surprise you?
Would you still hold your breath,
if you already knew the answer?
Suspense is what makes life breathe.
It is the pause before the first raindrop,
the silence before the music starts,
the heartbeat before a confession.
It is not the certainty of outcome,
but the journey toward it,
that makes waiting beautiful,
that makes hoping worth it.
So, embrace the unknown.
Not with fear, but with wonder.
Because the best moments in life
are the ones we never see coming.
— master
4:13pm, 20feb.
I write.
Not because it matters,
but because the alternative
is to be silent,
and silence is too close
to being forgotten.
Not all freedom comes with wings.
Not all escape routes lead to safety.
Even the greatest architect
could not outbuild fate.
Perhaps the lesson was never about flying,
but about learning
where not to fall.
While my messages sync,
I feel the sinking feeling of no replies.
There is no more to deny.
My worst nightmare was the unfound truth,
Coming to fruition.
I always was willing to fight,
But truths like this leave no room for lies.
I no longer can dance around dreams
As if they hold bits of light for me.
So what if I'm falling?
I've been falling for a really long time,
The world's been falling too, bleeding everywhere, from everywhere,
Just like me.
Let me fall, let me break,
Again.
While hope's hands shiver in the corners of my eyes.
Maybe when I get back up this time…
Maybe…
#SammyScribble
There’s nothing wrong
with wearing an old, oversized hoodie at home,
keeping that one pair of jeans that fits just right,
because some clothes aren’t just fabric,
they feel like comfort on the hardest days.
There’s nothing wrong
with using a phone that freezes at the worst moments,
tapping the screen twice to make it work,
because it still holds messages that made you smile,
photos of people you never want to forget,
and reminders of moments that felt like home.
There’s nothing wrong
with drinking coffee from a mug with a tiny chip,
dipping cookies until they’re just about to break,
adding water to the last bit of soap,
or rolling up the toothpaste tube to get every last drop.
There’s nothing wrong
with saving old takeout containers for storage,
keeping shopping bags tucked in a drawer “just in case,”
or using an empty jar to hold pens that barely work,
because somehow, these little things always come in handy.
There’s nothing wrong
with living in a home where the paint isn’t perfect,
where the fan makes a noise but still does its job,
where the fridge door needs an extra push to close,
because inside those walls, there’s warmth, love, and stories.
There’s nothing wrong
with eating a simple meal on a busy day,
replaying the same song because it just feels right,
or watching an old movie you’ve seen a hundred times,
because comfort isn’t always in something new—
sometimes, it’s in what we already have.
Sometimes, we wish for more—
something bigger, shinier, something untouched.
But in the smell of home-cooked food,
in the sound of laughter from another room,
in the quiet peace of a place that’s ours,
we already have more than enough.
~Thoughtless