Deepwriting Stories

Inspired by the song Alibi by sombr. Completely fictional one-shot. Some songs leave questions behind. Some leave stories. This is one interpretation of the one hidden inside Alibi.

A gentle collection of poems rising from chaos into clarity. These pages hold the quiet battles, the unspoken truths, and the soft rebirth of a soul learning to breathe again. For anyone walking through darkness, may these words remind you that light is already on its way.

Lerato serves the Lord with discipline, devotion, and silence. She cleans His house. She protects His people. She watches. Because not everyone who stands at the pulpit is sent by Him. When a new preacher arrives, the church sees a servant of God. Lerato sees something else. And she has never been afraid of the truth.

quotes and or photos opinions and what I think the hidden meanings are. enjoy and get emotional

A product of sleepless nights, tired eyes, and a weary heart. This collection holds poetry you won't just see and read, but feel and hear. Fervour, intense and passionate. by Famous T.

A bunch of poems I wrote! I hope you enjoy them! I wrote a lot of deep poems so uhm yeah! But I really hope you like this! (I CHANGED THE FORMAT!!!)

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.

Sunflowers 🌻✨ She was born beneath the shadow of devotion twisted into chains. Among sunflowers, she tasted fleeting freedom, the golden petals whispering of a life beyond pain. But darkness came like fire, devouring innocence and leaving her spirit charred and silent. This is the story of a girl raised in a cult of burning secrets, her body marked by betrayal, her heart haunted by screams. Yet within the ash lies her ember - the quiet, stubborn hope that one day she will rise, carrying the echoes of her trauma not as a curse, but as a testament to her unbreakable soul.

There's battles that don't leave wounds and scars that aren't visible on the surface. How deep can you cut someone before they finally break?

"I Am The Devil." That's what they call me. The quiet boy in the corner who never laughs, never blinks first, and never forgives a lie. My eyes scare them, my silence unsettles them, and my honesty cuts too deep. I spend my days buried in books, dismantling the world one thought at a time, until she walks in - the girl who dares to look back at me without flinching. She's warmth, I'm frost. She's chaos, I'm control. And yet, she stays. But people like me don't get happy endings. I ruin everything I touch. And when love finds me, it doesn't save me, it shows me just how much destruction I can bring. This is not a story of redemption. This is the story of how I learned to live with being the villain of my own life.

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.

Ash falls. Hearts ache. Nothing blooms. In this haunting collection, love turns crimson, memories burn, and the body becomes a cage for everything left unsaid. These poems explore loss, longing, and the quiet devastation of feeling too much-until there's nothing left at all.

🌊 How the Ocean Drowned the One with Glory By Maren Thorne 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕬𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝕱𝖆𝖎𝖑: Where Anchors Fail Have you ever seen the sea take down something too mighty to break? Not because it was weak. But because it was glowing. This is not a love letter. It's a warning. To the ones who rise too high, who carry too much light, who think they can sail untouched. The ocean has a type-he's drawn to glory. And when your shine matches his hunger, he pulls you under. Not because you were broken, But because you burned too brightly. This is a poetry story about drowning without water. About carrying salt in your blood until you feel nothing. About becoming something violent just to survive. And about the pain of being watched while you suffer-only to be blamed for burning. He doesn't care how powerful you are. He waits. He swallows. And when he's done, you'll be just a story told in echoes and fossil bones. Because the ocean doesn't destroy the weak-he devours the ones who dared to be strong.

What happens when you forget yourself for a moment? They say if lies didn't exist, truth wouldn't be so precious. The dumbest thing I ever said was, "I can't wait to grow up, to be my own person." But I belonged to everyone-except myself. I'm nineteen now. Am I living life, or just surviving it? This time, I've given my life over to the little miracle I gave birth to. I write so I don't forget myself. I stay silent so that everyone hears me-just so I won't forget, even for a moment. This isn't just a book. This is a story. My story.

Some nightmares don't end when you wake up. They follow you. They sit in your chest, in your breath, in the way your eyes scan a room without you even realizing it. The chase doesn't stop just because your eyes open. The fear doesn't disappear just because the world is quiet again. It lingers-subtle, heavy, alive beneath the surface. This story is not about a man chasing someone through the dark. It's about what that chase means. It's about being misunderstood... blamed... unheard... and forced into survival mode when no one else steps in. It's about the silence of people who see you struggling and choose not to help. It's about the pressure of defending yourself in a world that has already made up its mind about you. And deeper than that-it's about abandonment. The kind that doesn't always look obvious. The kind that shows up in denial. The kind that leaves you questioning your reality. This is the story of what happens when fear and abandonment collide at the same time-when your body is running, but your mind is trying to make sense of something much bigger. Because monsters aren't born. They're built. One moment at a time. One experience at a time. One survival instinct at a time. And eventually... you don't just run anymore. You learn. You adapt. You control it.

Sometimes, the pain isn't loud. It doesn't scream, it doesn't break things- it just stays... and slowly becomes a part of you. I smiled when I was supposed to, spoke when it was needed, and stayed silent when it mattered the most. Not because I had nothing to say, but because I knew no one was really listening. This is about the kind of pain that doesn't leave marks, the kind that sits quietly in your chest and makes everything feel heavier than it should. Nights became longer, thoughts became louder, and somewhere in between- I forgot what it felt like to be okay. Because sometimes... the hardest thing isn't falling apart- it's pretending you're not. "I didn't break all at once... I disappeared slowly."🥀✨

I feel as if I no longer have an "energy source" or "thrive" within me. As if I've been depleted of all PSYCHOLOGICAL life. All that's left is this PHYSICAL entity or mass of flesh and bone. My "soul" or "spirit" has vacated my body. I remember being energetic and vibrant, even witty, but now I seem blah and pathetic. I feel lethargic and weak almost to a crippled psychological state. I've lost Hope and now feel eager for the "END". I've almost completely abandoned my interest and now desire to simply just rest. Close my eyes, slip into my dreams, and finally rest. Though I have no reason to feel this tired, at least physically, must be a case of mental fatigue. Excuse me while I rest ©lyricalslouch

Smoke - an ethereal metaphor for the drifting mind, fleeting control, and silent peace. This poem explores letting go through the imagery of smoke's journey, its greys, its dull embrace, and its final quietude

In a world addicted to noise, John is drowning in silence. After years lost to mental decay and drug-induced confusion, he wakes up inside the ruins of his own mind-his memories faded, his identity fractured. But as sobriety creeps in not with light, but with stillness, he begins a quiet, painful journey to rebuild. Through haunting reflections and philosophical questions, "The Ruins of His Mind" explores the fragile nature of memory, the search for truth, and the quiet strength it takes to rise from emptiness-not to find peace, but purpose. A raw, introspective story for anyone who's ever questioned the world-or themselves.