Silence stretches as my pen lays unused on the wooden, bleak desk.
I leave my room, feelings remaining in my brain instead of paper.
Stepping outside was a miracle to me—
the air smelled of freshly cut grass and yearly regret.
I saw prices for coffee on an old, rusty chalkboard.
That was weird, because the only numbers I knew was the date of your birth.
Everything was eerily quiet— like the air knew secrets I didn't.
Walking back home felt like entering chains again.
It was Halloween of 2025, derealization hitting me once again.
As I stared into the void, it looks at me back with hatred
As a stream of thoughts race through my mind.
I stared at the photos on my wall
Wondering where all of this has gone into.
I glanced at the constellations of stars
Hoping life would've given me a better outcome.