Twenty Something.



   Well then. DAMN. 2 7.

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Oh Baby, Wasn’t I There?

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INDIGO DESOLATION  Under a sky smeared with grime,   where stars are just faded glitter,   I stumble through the wreckage of my own making—   a lost soul in the alley of regret. The night’s a blanket of filth and forgotten dreams,   no comfort in the scattered, indifferent stars,   flickering like streetlights on their last legs,   mocking me with their cold, distant shine. Every glint up there feels like a punch,   a reminder of every foolish mistake I’ve made,   a constellation of guilt stretched out   like a neon sign saying, “You’re a mess.” The darkness wraps around me like a cheap coat,   no warmth, just the scent of old failures   and the silent screams of a thousand “what-ifs,”   each one gnawing at my insides. Stars, you miserable bastards,   I’m drowning in the mess you don’t even notice.   Here I am, a damn wreck of a human,   and you’re just out there, indifferent,   as always. G.
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There was this girl… her name? Doesn’t matter. Could’ve been yours. Could’ve been mine. She talked too much. Always had. Always did. Always would. Not in that “I love to hear myself speak” way. It was more like… If she didn’t let it out, it would eat her alive. All of it. T he stories, the memories, the pain she never asked for but somehow inherited. Words pour out too fast, too deep, too much. She tells you about her first heartbreak before you’ve even finished your drink. She brings up her childhood trauma mid-laugh. And by the time you blink, she’s already saying, “Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it?” But she can’t stop. She doesn’t know how. Because somewhere deep inside her, where the hurt still sleeps in the fetal position. She believes if she stays silent long enough… you’ll disappear. She had this brain that moved too fast. Tangents everywhere. She’d lose her point halfway through and circle back like she was chasing a thread she dropped in the middle of the sentence....
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