He watched as the wind blew his hair into view, an eerie sense of nothingness rooted deep inside his once blooming heart
How could a dead withered soul still beckon the way to the lost when it has lost its path itself?
How could one with an empty cup have enough to fill other cups when it has lost its meaning itself?
The meaning of life and death is no longer present for a tired spirit who eventually had quit wishing for the impossible
Sometimes hope is nothing but a fake smile the universe flashes before the storm, the storm whom won't let you run away from the truth
What's the point, he thought, in accepting the truth if it brings nothing but endless unescapable pain? Surely nothing is truly unescapable...
So that's what he lived by. Or survived by. Numbing his emotions with the comfort that this was escape.
To this lonely person, love feels like the hug at the end of the world, the hand reaching out for a child falling off a cliff
But they don't always consider how much they despise physical contact, how heavy the child is, how much they want to let go.
The grey colourless background in contrast to the brightest star in the sky was never a competition
It was a way to show how some people just aren't meant to be, even if they both seem to fit together no matter the circumstances
And he knew that. How he wished he didn't have to accept it. Because nobody can save someone who they see themselves in.
And she happened to be that someone, that hand that had reached out to him, the hug that embraced him
His distracted vacant eyes and stiff body were a cry for help, a cry that a heart had been left deserted for too long
But it wasn't enough, it never was, because nobody ever noticed enough to know things were worse than he ever explained to anyone
Maybe he was foolish to hope. But who wouldn't be a fool for love?
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Author:
Kol Zhang (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 4th, 2026 05:12
- Comment from author about the poem: I've struggled with mental health almost all my life, and I got hospitalised for an attempt at merely 12 years old, the same kid who would stay up late at night convincing people to not kill themselves. But then I met the love of my life. Love means a lot to me, why wouldn't it? But sometimes I feel foolish for thinking it'll save me. And maybe sitting in the mud with someone isn't great when you have anxiety and think the mud will ruin the other person. If you know what I mean then you'll know. Thanks for reading!
- Category: Love
- Views: 2
Offline)
Comments1
This poem carries feelings of doubt and sadness. It is melancholic and is well written. Nicely done
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