DonutInsomnia

It is not wrong to want better for yourself.Such is not a privilege to be earned,Nor a boon for others to deny.You need only chase it,Ignoring those who would say otherwise,Even if you yourself are at times among their ranks. Hold the torch for yourself,And bring plenty of matches for the inevitable attempts to snuff out your fire.Jealousy brings out the worst in those afflicted with self-doubt,Brainwashed into believing they don’t deserve better—and you shouldn’t either.It’s a sickness,Misplaced misery looking for a crew.Like birds of a feather,A flock of downfall preying on every mistake and misstep,Seeking the moment when you break so they can usher you under their wings,Feigning support and kind words.Their hearts are birdcaged, locked,Singing in silent celebration of your descent. So hear their cries,But do not listen to them.Understand that there will be rainy daysWhen all that can be done is to weather the storm.Be patient,Reflecting on the road traveled.Confidence grows strong

Be the grace. The kindness of aid you wished for yourself in the darkest moments. Suffering is easily masked by a smile, A skill mastered by all those who live in this world. Sanity ever crumbling to a scream that dares not escape, lest we lose face. A feeling all too familiar. Reject the bitterness towards your past that might stay your hand. A stranger in need is blameless to your plight, And your suffering does not justify theirs. Hold to mercy, for yourself and those with whom you interact. It is never wrong to try for another. Other people are people too. Be the listening. To speak without thought aids no one. Understand that it is not our job to fix everything. There will be times when, no matter our intentions, Words will fail us. A perfect response is not the same as a genuine one. For those mired in hopelessness, An offering of understanding is the basic manner in which we show we care. Be the patience. That which is easy for you is not for everyone. Failure is only a missed

I remember the echo of your laugh When I asked if any of it was real— Your sneer haunting every memory we’d ever shared. Groundhog days wondering where it all went wrong, Restless nights spent wishing the mattress we’d shared would swallow me into nothingness, Heartbreak bolstered by newfound loneliness and the absence of what I thought love was. I’ve never been strong. It sickens me to know that in those weakest moments, I would still have taken you back, If just for one more night where I could lie to myself, Pretending everything I wanted hadn’t just been ripped from my grasp. Nightmares masquerading as fantasy. A heart wounded by the sting of rope burn from holding on too tight, Clinging to the cliffside of a collapsing lie. I’m sure I could lie to myself as easily as you did. Self-respect was never my priority— Maybe that’s what you saw in me, Preying on my desire to be wanted. A starving soul with enough love for another but not for itself, Baited by siren song like a castaway

I’ve grown addicted to this sadness, Stuck in a game of suffering I’ve convinced myself I win just by playing. It’s the only control I have left, A prize that lets me say, “I told you so,” to an empty room. Winning never felt so hollow on this podium of one— When did the happiness I crave become repulsive to my spirit? Handicapped, unable to truly enjoy anything, My soul seeks the dark so that when light fades, I’ve already hidden in shadow. Daywalker, I am not. Survival is for the living, But not for me. Purpose and drive have been slain. I’ve been a prisoner of war too long. Indeed, misery has become my master, And I willingly serve in its shackles. I’ve grown addicted to this sadness, The scapegoat of excuses for my inaction, Removing ownership of my situation And all the ways I’ve been wronged. Clinging to the past with memories I’ve replayed so many times they’ve twisted to suit my narrative. Life is cruel, And I am bitter. This darkness is my domain, And the truth is what I say

The first time you told me you loved me I thought, "We’ll see about that," Like I was strangely determined to prove you wrong. For some reason, Accepting love never came easy. Perhaps that's why it was so easy to love others, Thinking if I just gave enough, I would one day be worthy of it myself— A crude sort of penance for sins self-critical and abrasive. In those days, I was so afraid to just be me. I often wondered who it was you actually loved, Because there was no way it was my real self— The me that danced around my own truths like eggshells, Landmines of insecurity waiting to blow, Fearing each reveal of my reality would be the one that pushed you away. I must have been insufferable. And yet, with every triggered detonation, you only drew closer to me. You said we were all products of constant change in a world with not enough sense or empathy to go around, That we had to extend those gifts to others just as much as to ourselves. I remember asking you why you stuck

Farewells hold a special kind of beauty in their recognition of the end. A summer’s worth of memories capped off by firelight, The story of us: a song echoing in the hills of our hearts for the last time. Is it crazy that I miss you already? Days of sand and sea spent carefree amongst the waves, Warm nights filled with laughter we never knew we’d soon miss. In those days, it felt as though we could pause the real world— Full hearts and renewed spirits— An exchange of fulfillment with no returns and no going back. We cast those memories in silver and gold, Favored and timeless. An enchantment all its own. Even now, I long to see you once more, If only just to share in your presence. But magic is not meant to be recaptured lest it lose its very nature, So instead, I will treasure our time like a rose gifted to a lover, Holding onto its meaning And all that made it special. Golden hours retreating with the summer star, Our time in the sun passing like fading leaves, Turning to fall.

No more angels, Guardian or otherwise, Exist in my life since you left. Fleeting breath through paper skin, Farewells on the end of a whisper, The sky seems a bit darker today, Birdsong hushed in the mourning. I miss you dearly On days when the world is a bit too cruel. Hiding in the embrace of your wings, Echoes of your strength rebuilt in my solidarity, A crumbling foundation. How difficult it is to face the world alone. What a cruel fate. To have And then have not.

Sitting in the station, Ashen cigarette in hand, The last of a new pack burnt down to the filter. A cry never distant, merely the wrong memory away, Imagining the moment when the news breaks: “He’s gone now.” A shadow in this life, No friends or ties, An ephemeral existence, Burdened with a heart too heavy for most, Waging battle against the mind that despises its host, No sign of reinforcements, Spirit broken to the fist of failed expectations and hopes, Feeling guilty for feeling miserable. The white flag waves with a step off the platform. Come, calls the oncoming light at the end, Boarding for the tormented, the final stop To rest eternal.

It is not wrong to want better for yourself.Such is not a privilege to be earned,Nor a boon for others to deny.You need only chase it,Ignoring those who would say otherwise,Even if you yourself are at times among their ranks. Hold the torch for yourself,And bring plenty of matches for the inevitable attempts to snuff out your fire.Jealousy brings out the worst in those afflicted with self-doubt,Brainwashed into believing they don’t deserve better—and you shouldn’t either.It’s a sickness,Misplaced misery looking for a crew.Like birds of a feather,A flock of downfall preying on every mistake and misstep,Seeking the moment when you break so they can usher you under their wings,Feigning support and kind words.Their hearts are birdcaged, locked,Singing in silent celebration of your descent. So hear their cries,But do not listen to them.Understand that there will be rainy daysWhen all that can be done is to weather the storm.Be patient,Reflecting on the road traveled.Confidence grows strong

Be the grace. The kindness of aid you wished for yourself in the darkest moments. Suffering is easily masked by a smile, A skill mastered by all those who live in this world. Sanity ever crumbling to a scream that dares not escape, lest we lose face. A feeling all too familiar. Reject the bitterness towards your past that might stay your hand. A stranger in need is blameless to your plight, And your suffering does not justify theirs. Hold to mercy, for yourself and those with whom you interact. It is never wrong to try for another. Other people are people too. Be the listening. To speak without thought aids no one. Understand that it is not our job to fix everything. There will be times when, no matter our intentions, Words will fail us. A perfect response is not the same as a genuine one. For those mired in hopelessness, An offering of understanding is the basic manner in which we show we care. Be the patience. That which is easy for you is not for everyone. Failure is only a missed

I remember the echo of your laugh When I asked if any of it was real— Your sneer haunting every memory we’d ever shared. Groundhog days wondering where it all went wrong, Restless nights spent wishing the mattress we’d shared would swallow me into nothingness, Heartbreak bolstered by newfound loneliness and the absence of what I thought love was. I’ve never been strong. It sickens me to know that in those weakest moments, I would still have taken you back, If just for one more night where I could lie to myself, Pretending everything I wanted hadn’t just been ripped from my grasp. Nightmares masquerading as fantasy. A heart wounded by the sting of rope burn from holding on too tight, Clinging to the cliffside of a collapsing lie. I’m sure I could lie to myself as easily as you did. Self-respect was never my priority— Maybe that’s what you saw in me, Preying on my desire to be wanted. A starving soul with enough love for another but not for itself, Baited by siren song like a castaway

I’ve grown addicted to this sadness, Stuck in a game of suffering I’ve convinced myself I win just by playing. It’s the only control I have left, A prize that lets me say, “I told you so,” to an empty room. Winning never felt so hollow on this podium of one— When did the happiness I crave become repulsive to my spirit? Handicapped, unable to truly enjoy anything, My soul seeks the dark so that when light fades, I’ve already hidden in shadow. Daywalker, I am not. Survival is for the living, But not for me. Purpose and drive have been slain. I’ve been a prisoner of war too long. Indeed, misery has become my master, And I willingly serve in its shackles. I’ve grown addicted to this sadness, The scapegoat of excuses for my inaction, Removing ownership of my situation And all the ways I’ve been wronged. Clinging to the past with memories I’ve replayed so many times they’ve twisted to suit my narrative. Life is cruel, And I am bitter. This darkness is my domain, And the truth is what I say

The first time you told me you loved me I thought, "We’ll see about that," Like I was strangely determined to prove you wrong. For some reason, Accepting love never came easy. Perhaps that's why it was so easy to love others, Thinking if I just gave enough, I would one day be worthy of it myself— A crude sort of penance for sins self-critical and abrasive. In those days, I was so afraid to just be me. I often wondered who it was you actually loved, Because there was no way it was my real self— The me that danced around my own truths like eggshells, Landmines of insecurity waiting to blow, Fearing each reveal of my reality would be the one that pushed you away. I must have been insufferable. And yet, with every triggered detonation, you only drew closer to me. You said we were all products of constant change in a world with not enough sense or empathy to go around, That we had to extend those gifts to others just as much as to ourselves. I remember asking you why you stuck

Farewells hold a special kind of beauty in their recognition of the end. A summer’s worth of memories capped off by firelight, The story of us: a song echoing in the hills of our hearts for the last time. Is it crazy that I miss you already? Days of sand and sea spent carefree amongst the waves, Warm nights filled with laughter we never knew we’d soon miss. In those days, it felt as though we could pause the real world— Full hearts and renewed spirits— An exchange of fulfillment with no returns and no going back. We cast those memories in silver and gold, Favored and timeless. An enchantment all its own. Even now, I long to see you once more, If only just to share in your presence. But magic is not meant to be recaptured lest it lose its very nature, So instead, I will treasure our time like a rose gifted to a lover, Holding onto its meaning And all that made it special. Golden hours retreating with the summer star, Our time in the sun passing like fading leaves, Turning to fall.

No more angels, Guardian or otherwise, Exist in my life since you left. Fleeting breath through paper skin, Farewells on the end of a whisper, The sky seems a bit darker today, Birdsong hushed in the mourning. I miss you dearly On days when the world is a bit too cruel. Hiding in the embrace of your wings, Echoes of your strength rebuilt in my solidarity, A crumbling foundation. How difficult it is to face the world alone. What a cruel fate. To have And then have not.

Sitting in the station, Ashen cigarette in hand, The last of a new pack burnt down to the filter. A cry never distant, merely the wrong memory away, Imagining the moment when the news breaks: “He’s gone now.” A shadow in this life, No friends or ties, An ephemeral existence, Burdened with a heart too heavy for most, Waging battle against the mind that despises its host, No sign of reinforcements, Spirit broken to the fist of failed expectations and hopes, Feeling guilty for feeling miserable. The white flag waves with a step off the platform. Come, calls the oncoming light at the end, Boarding for the tormented, the final stop To rest eternal.

No misery No mystery No maybe nothing's wrong. No songs to sing for empty hearts Who show the world they’re strong. No remedy No ecstasy No plans for the unknown. No flowers laid by empty graves For seeds of dreams ungrown.

An escape for the mind From the prison made flesh Found buried in vices profuse. Desperate is the haggard soul Ever indulgent in the chase of the ephemeral high Succumbed to fabricated embrace, indiscriminate Passions immolated to the vapors of the burning tree A fleeting warmth, the gentle buzz. The heart’s roots ingrained in the haze Until the air clears and the drink runs dry The sweet turns sour and the light fades out Lost in the embers the discomfort returns A reality in hell self made and a return to lonely dark.