Yesterday’s faults
become tomorrow’s sorrows.
In the dark corners of my mind
I string stars like fairy lights.
I take thunder in my chest
and turn it to fuel—
to light the fire within.
Tag: Quotes
-
ON MY LAST BREATH
On my last breath,
I begged the night for a saviour—
but the darkness stayed quiet.
No one came.
The cold laid the truth bare:
in the chaos, in the ruins,
no one is coming
to pull you from your wreckage.
Your salvation is yours.
You save yourself—
or don’t rise. -
LOOK / SEARCH / YEARN
LOOK FOR
A horizon
that doesn’t fade
when you reach it.
A purpose
that survives the quiet.
A reason
not to burn it all down.
Something that holds
when you lean—
And doesn’t give.
SEARCH FOR
A place
where you don’t perform.
A landing
that doesn’t collapse.
A room inside you
that doesn’t echo.
A truth
that survives the storm—
Not gentle,
but still yours.
YEARN FOR
A home
that doesn’t bruise.
Warmth
that doesn’t leave.
Something
that doesn’t shrink you
or ask you to betray yourself.
Yearn for the self
that stops asking.
The one that stands—
Unflinching,
unchosen by fear.
The one that takes the throne
without apology—
After everything
it bled to keep.
-
REVIVAL
Regrowth is not gentle.
I died at midnight—
A slow bleed,
crying spells,
fractures beneath the surface.
Learning to grow
in the soil of last year’s failures—
they are lessons,
not a death sentence.
I shed the stories that kept me small,
shut the doors that fed the dark.
I make peace with sunlight,
and the quiet pull of moonlit nights.
I embrace the changes—
soft,
loud,
necessary.
I hold the tender moments.
I love—despite the madness.
Revival. -
Artworks
I want to know the truth of your soul,
Your strength, your story,
The fire that drives your heartbeat forward through the night.
I’m not afraid of the monsters you carry—
The rage born of old wounds, the scars,
The hurt forged in your bones.
I am no stranger to the dark underworld;
My monsters, my oldest companions—
Linger like background noise that refuses to die away.
But we are not our monsters;
We are what we create from the mess they leave behind.
Show me the artworks of your life.Create some magic with me.
-
Nothing Leaves Clean
Fallen tears,
coffee stains.
Sunlight
cracks through the window—
soft,
but unforgiving.
Heaven is a state of mind.
Hell lives in the heart.
And letting go
never leaves clean. -
Let Them Fall
Let them be who they pretend to be,
and let them fall.
Leave them to their misery,
their hollow claims and borrowed skin.
Negativity, truth, and karma
will swallow them whole.
For they are their own demon,
their own slow demise.
True colours fracture through the mask,
the costume stained beyond repair.
They hate the mirror of their own heart,
so they hide inside a stranger’s face. -
Affogato Afternoons
Affogato afternoons, where the day softens and the heart sharpens.
I sip the sweetness melting into the bitter, hoping it teaches me something honest.
I remember I’m allowed to slow down.
Some afternoons are a truce.
Others are a battlefield,Where I sit across from myself, letting the espresso burn through the fog I thought I was done fighting.
But here – in this melting moment – I let it all blur.
The past I’m trying to outgrow, the future I’m not ready for, the voices that rise like steam and disappear just as fast.
Because in affogato afternoons, I learn the same truth over and over:
Even the bitter can soften. Even the frozen can give. And sometimes, the only way forward is to let yourself melt just enough to begin again.
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