Existentialpoetry Stories

> We are not born to fit the molds we're given. I am not who they expect. I am not what they define. I've been bullied, ignored, underestimated. But I taught myself. I created myself. From trash to truth, from silence to poetry. This is my confession. My reflection. My rebellion. I Am Lonewolf.

The purpose of this work emerges through multiple layers, each one illuminating a different aspect of human experience with absence and presence. At its heart, it serves as both witness and transformation- taking the universal experience of separation and absence and creating a shared language for understanding its many dimensions. Most importantly, it validates the complexity of modern separation - how we can be simultaneously present and absent, how distance works differently in digital spaces, how some forms of separation defy traditional understanding. It offers readers a mirror for their own experiences while creating a framework for understanding the architecture of absence in our contemporary world.

A journey through the fragments of self, the questions we hide, and the echoes we chase. A raw reflection of identity, love, and the masks we wear.

A poetic journey to the edge of chaos and desire in 10 cantos. Includes 10 original artworks.

I hate parties.

This poem is a stark meditation on decay, showing a pile of trash turning into a statement of nature's inevitable fate through rot, flies, and larvae. It confronts disgust and amusement in a clinical yet mythic way, exposing decomposition as both a process and an essence.

This is a poem of someone who is tired of living

Go on and read this poem, then tell me how it goes. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 🎊🎊🎊

a pinch of poems, a sprinkle of rhyme can lift our souls in the darkest of times; so take a pinch of poems and hold it between your fingers; for it's the art that lingers within the little things and in every word there is a clue about the person that you are and the person you will pursue;

A birthday isn't always a celebration. Sometimes it's just proof that you survived another year. If your birthday doesn't feel special anymore, you'll understand this piece.

it's about a person that is too tired of everything

You think you've survived, yet something still pulls you toward the ache. You soothe your heart, whispering that it's nothing - soft, light, harmless. You convince yourself it's free will, strength of mind, a calm command. But it's a bitter fruit stuck in your throat - neither swallowed nor spat out, only lingering in pain. You try to smile though your lips tremble from exhaustion. You look into the mirror, asking: Do I pierce through it, or does it pierce through me? You reach out to yourself, touching your own solitude, only to find a blurred reflection. You ask your torn heart, How much endurance do you have left? Life keeps coming for you - relentless, unapologetic. It hurls you against the wall, only to bend you halfway, then forces you to rise again, like a sword reclaimed. You spin within your own orbit, watching repetition tighten its grip. You lose, you are lost, you search. It's a revelation without clarity - like a theft in broad daylight by a blind thief. And then, a faint light disturbs you; you fear it might expose you. You stand on the edge of dawn - and extinguish it. Still, you keep trying.

I don't paint with precision. I paint with everything I feel. This is the story of what it means to love in color - wildly, sincerely, and without a guarantee of being understood. Told in six quiet pieces, this poetic journey follows one heart's attempt to give everything it is... even when it doesn't fit. For anyone who's ever offered too much, and still hoped to be seen.

There are feelings that slip through language-emotions too vast for a single word, moments too fleeting to define. The Atlas of the Soul is a collection of poetic entries that seeks to give them names, mapping the uncharted territories of the human heart. From the quiet ache of nostalgia to the warmth of unexpected joy, from the weight of unspoken goodbyes to the lightness of fleeting wonder, this book is a lexicon of emotions-both familiar and forgotten. Each entry is a window into the depths of what it means to feel, to remember, and to exist. For those who have ever searched for the right words to describe what lingers in their chest, The Atlas of the Soul offers a compass. A guide. A name for every feeling you've ever known but never spoken. So tell me-how much of your heart remains unnamed? And are you ready to find the words?

Inside of Me: A confession of breaking an internal prison and discovering a different branch of reality. We Believe in Love: Deconstructing humanity's greatest myth: why we seek love outside ourselves when we are its ultimate source. The Architect of Madness: A provocative challenge to the Creator and the System: are we living stones in a wall of coldness, or merely "bots" serving a global illusion? Immortal Flower: When life turns into purgatory and every breath is an ammonia burn. A raw manifesto of exhaustion and the thirst for absolute silence. ***Rendered into English by Gemini With love, LunarChild of ChristmasLight English & Russian Version _______________________________ Внутри меня: Исповедь о том, как разрушить внутреннюю тюрьму и найти иную ветку реальности. Мы верим - есть любовь: Разрушение главного мифа человечества: почему мы ищем любовь снаружи, когда сами являемся её источником. Архитектор безумия: Провокационный вызов Творцу и системе: мы - живые камни в стене бессердечности или просто «боты» на службе у глобальной иллюзии? Бессмертник: Когда жизнь превращается в чистилище, а каждый вдох - в ожог аммиаком. Предельно честный манифест об усталости и жажде тишины.

This poem explores the deep pain of loss and the struggle to maintain sanity amidst overwhelming grief. The speaker vividly expresses feelings of despair, isolation, and the haunting presence of dark thoughts. With powerful imagery, it captures the chilling absence of peace and the fragility of hope. The poem ultimately reflects the relentless battle against inner turmoil, offering a poignant insight into the complexities of emotional suffering and the search for solace in a world filled with pain.

Apne favorite manan ke liye kuch likha hai yahan tak aa gaye ho to andar jaaka padhlo.

Maybe growth is the art of losing gently.

Portrays love not as something we possess, but as a force that imprints itself into our being haunting absence, echoing memory, and reshaped identity. It suggests that love never truly vanishes, but becomes part of the soul's architecture, present in silence, objects, and the spaces between moments.