"Staring at a screen, wondering if it’s staring back. Typing words"
20y old, my soul feels it’s been through three midlife crises
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https://blog.spacehey.com/kkiko
— 3 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
("for those who mistake tenderness for transcendence") It went like this: They picked a flower from a park tree and gave it to him a gesture delicate enough to feel like meaning. a small, trembling thing. They kissed under the branches, and for a moment, they both believed in beginnings. immortalized a script they didn’t write but knew by heart. like the script demanded. Later, » Continue Reading
— 1 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
i know the bed feels safer when someone’s in it. i know the nights hit harder when you’re alone. but moving from hand to hand won’t stop the emptiness. stitching yourself to stran » Continue Reading
— 3 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
Hold me, kiss me, whisper, sweetly, that you'll love me forever. Trace your fingers down my spine, let your heartbeat echo mine. » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
with the crooked silverware of our last chat. I want to swallow the raw indifference, taste what was left between the lines. Don’t bring me peace bring the bill. With the names scratched out and the to » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Loving you turned the rot inside my ribs into something that almost felt alive — a carcass blooming with wild mushrooms, moths with glass wings, their dust clotting my veins. You mistake decay for alchemy. Rot stays rot, even when it glows. » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
The weight of a broken heart isn’t in the breaking— it’s in the carrying. It’s in the way you wake up and choose to breathe, not because you want to, but because you’re curious. Curious to see how the story ends. Leaving now would be like walking out of a horror movie just as the tense music starts. What if the monster isn’t real? What if the hero survives? What if, against all... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
I feel empty. A hollow echo reverberates inside me, like a room where the walls keep stretching, but nothing ever fills the space. Loss, sadness, despair—they all pass through me, but they don’t stay long enough to mean anything. I’m not happy, but I don’t feel like I deserve to be sad either. What do I have to be sad about? I have a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, people to turn to if thing... » Continue Reading
— 4 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
Let’s talk about the glass coffin in your pocket. Yeah, that thing—the smartphone. It’s not just a device. It’s a funeral for silence, a shrine where we sacrifice our ability to think for the dopamine hit of a like. You wanna know why everything feels like ash? Because we’re burning » Continue Reading
— 2 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
Hands are strange things. They build and destroy, they hold and let go, they carry the weight of everything we’ve ever touched. My hands are no different. They’ve held love like it was something fragile, something that might shatter if I gripped too tightly. They’ve clenched into fists, trembling with rage, only to uncurl hours later, empty and ashamed. They’ve wiped tears, both mine and others’, ... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
The coffee has been sitting there too long. Not cold enough to be undrinkable, not hot enough to be satisfying. Just a lukewarm liquid, forgotten next to a pack of cigarettes I never smoke and a phone that won’t stop vibrating. I should answer. But not now. Maybe never. Outside, the world moves on, indifferent. Cars honk. A mother is crying in a parked car. People cross streets without looking. So... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
The static is a storm—thick, all-consuming. It seeps into your bones, into the marrow of your existence, until silence is nothing but a distant rumor. The world is a machine, grinding us down, polishing us into obedience. But if you carve through it—if you tear past the empty echoes—there’s something waiting beyond the wreckage. Not purity. » Continue Reading
— 1 Comment— 2 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
The trees do not need our names. The rivers do not care for our wars. The sky does not flinch when we raise our towers, clawing at it like starving beasts. We built our world on bones—wood snapped, earth torn open, mountains gutted. We paved over roots and called it civilization. We silenced the howl of the wolves and called it progress. We caged the wild and named it preservation. But the wild re... » Continue Reading
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