I write to survive.

Enjoy your stay; book a room; don't steal the towels. I aim for something daily if inspiration strikes... At least four times a week, hopefully. Just a guy trying to not burn and drown at the same time. I'm writing a book. Check it out only if you want to! No pressure. https://www.wattpad.com/story/404728058?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=FrostedAllistar

[thoughtkick]

“Sometimes, home has a heartbeat.”

— Beau Taplin, Home

[fenlynpoetry]

Sometimes, the heart stops beating and it'll never be the same again.

[fenlynpoetry]

They say time is borrowed.

They say time is borrowed,

that life alone seemed hollow

but you managed to waste

my efforts, my time

that once had been mine

for what reason, i wonder

that your temper was like thunder

sometimes beautiful, sometimes loud

always hiding behind your dark cloud

if only, earlier, i saw the light

it wasn't yours, it shone bright

unlike the lightning, the brilliance

you cast, a foul malignance

(hey sorry for lack of posting, exams suck)

[fenlynpoetry]

Nothing I hold onto

can be knead in

to fill the shape

you carved out of my life

[fenlynpoetry]

I wasn’t afraid of anything

when I was with you

Now I flinch at every noise 

ever since you left.

The world wasn’t so scary

when I lived it with you.

[fenlynpoetry]

I miss you like...

Now that you’re gone

i can’t help it.

i’ll miss you, dear

like phantom pain

you were part of

my body, soul

i can’t stop it

i really miss you

like phantom pain

[fenlynpoetry]

In the attic, sat three mirrors

In the attic, sat three mirrors

one is dusty, old, filled with cracks

one showed a hesitant reflection, it didn't wave back

one showed nothing, the glass was tinted black.

The night that I found three mirrors,

I was broken, had formed my own cracks

someone tried to help; I ran, didn't look back

I was falling, all I saw was the vast black.

Every month, I returned

maybe I should've stayed away

but I wanted things to finally change

yet the three mirrors, they remained the same.

I moved, left the mirrors behind

yet the thoughts linger, they creep

about all the things I currently feel

I see three mirrors, even in my sleep.

That night, the clock strikes twelve

I crouched low, I snuck out

towards the mirrors that hurt me, somehow

hammer in hand, head filled with doubt.

I returned to the attick

the mirror breaks, the room fills with exploding cracks

I had no mercy, didn't held back

their deaths relieved me, my soul was no longer

tainted black.

[fenlynpoetry]

Each day, I remind myself,

every rose has its thorns

you just never bothered to bloom.

That isn't my fault.

[fenlynpoetry]

It's frustrating to be around you,

because we both know

we'll never be like in the movies,

because the happy ends are reserved

for people who deserve

eachother.

[fenlynpoetry]

"a lost art they don't teach you anymore"

Understanding 

is a lost art

that they don’t teach

you anymore

so don’t pretend

that you know me

just because you

were the first to

see me drown in

waters of my

own creation.

[fenlynpoetry]

I've fallen

for the silence

that fell

in your absence

[fenlynpoetry]

A double edged blade.

The best thing of the world being at your grasp

is the illusion of freedom

the fucked up thing they never tell

is that the world rests on your shoulders.

[fenlynpoetry]

You give life to a dead world.

You are like 

the singing of birds in a forest

the humming of the fridge in a quiet apartment

the tapping of the rain on the roof on Sunday evenings

the warmth of a good cup of coffee

the soft breeze of a summer day

the purring of a cat fully relaxed

Not everyone will notice you

but the world would be empty, dead

without you

You give this cruel world life.

[fenlynpoetry]

No noise

can ever drown out

the silence

you’ve left me with.

[fenlynpoetry]

loneliness and being alone:

it looks the same

you experience useless pity the same

you get pushed around the same

you get ignored the same

you get mocked the same

you get treated the same.

but sometimes

i wished that

i could yell out:

it has never been the same.

[fenlynpoetry]

How am I

expected to

know

how to love

when I've never

before experienced

love

in my life?

[fenlynpoetry]

An Empty Home feels like a forgotten promise.

November Eleven 2025.

Everyone left.

My home feels empty

I feel empty

like a bouquet of rose buds that’ll never blossom

like a guitar that is collecting dust because someone gave up on it

like a toy box sitting in the attic, waiting for someone to open it again

like a good luck charm, chucked forgotten in a drawer, because the owner grew up

a colourful tapestry suddenly turned to greyscale.

All I want is the past. I want to return to the past,

to make the roses blossom

to play that old guitar

to open that box again

to carry that charm with you

to live again.

Home used to feel alive

A vase stood on the dinner table like a promise

Soft music notes drifted between the walls

A child was playing, making noises and voices to tell his own story that lived in his head alone

I clutched that charm because I felt lucky; I was happy

But now, this felt worse than death

because nothing stood on the dinner table

home has never been more silent, the only noise audible was the clicking of the clock that hung on the wall

imagination has never been further away

and I no longer believed in luck or happiness.

Because my siblings left me in this home.

All alone.

To make me deal with my problems on my own.

[fenlynpoetry]

November Ten 2025.

Fake

I feel it. It doesn’t ache. It doesn’t feel good, either.

Nothing.

Pretentious people pretend to show interest in whatever that’s “me”.

They ask seemingly sincere questions, only to ignore me or not attentively listen to my answers.

People are strange like that; everyone assumes that they can fix everything they touch, mend other’s wounds. 

Mostly, people do it for themselves. 

They wouldn’t feel guilty; they helped after all. They tried their “best” to fix another.

It’s funny, in a non–humerous way: they hand out half–hearted help to ease their uneasiness that I don’t belong in the box they call “normal’.

The contrast separates it severely.

The difference is shocking, unnervingly so.

The people where you can feel happy with, without consequences.

The people where you can feel sad with, without consequences.

The people you can be both, without them using it as leverage.

Fake friends are great at fulfilling your ego.

Faithful friends are there to foster your flaws.

Fake friends ‘fix’ your fractured and fragile life,

while faithful friends make sure your flames for the future flourish.

Savor it; not everyone has them.

Enjoy it. Make it last.