《 Nyx Thinks 》
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And I would lay down to silence my thoughts,
soothe my wounds, and not pick them apart;
Rest my tired eyes for a while.

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But I do not know,
where home is.

©️Nyx_Thinks

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"I love you, as much as the stars,
beyond words can describe.
But you, ethereal you,
are my downfall."
A whispered revelation.

"I wish to be your salvation,
your saviour, but then, who'll save me?"
An ambiguous answer.

"Is this what you call a tragedy?"

"No.This is a tear-jerker."

A shared melancholic laugh.

#OC #draft
18
And we, my sweet fragile child,
are just another passing whisper of the wind,
to her.
A moment of infatuation.

Why are you falling in love,
with eternity?

#OC
7💘2
It sat beside me,
omnious yet kind.
So, so kind.

Heard my sobs,
wiped away my tears.
Listened to my regrets,
my heartbreaks, my stories,
my fears, my lies.

Void eyes,
that did not held a shred of doubt.

I took it's hand, when offered;
finally letting go of my cage.

____
So please don't blame,
If I say,
death has always been,
kinder than life.

#pillowthoughts #OC
💔116
If only you could see
through walls of this prison,
far beyond the lines of war
you would find;

The monster you fear,
is a child born,
in the midst of a war.
___

In blood and ashes,
amidst cries of pain,
he has been moulded
with hate and revenge.

#OC
❤‍🔥153👍32
Raise your hands and wound me open,
scar my skin and let it bleed,
then rip my heart and be content.

Fill me to the brim with hatred,
so much so, that I can finally leave.

I have gotten tired;
of empty silence filled with deliberate words,
of cautious whispers,
as if we are made of glass.


#agony #OC
❤‍🔥174💔3
You, my darling, are a free bird,
yet a prisoner to your own heart.

And it's despairing,
to watch you scratch yourself raw,
tear yourself apart.

#OC
16🔥4👍1
I count my ribs.
I count my chains.
I memorize my own remains.

Not dead enough to stop the pain,
not alive enough to break the frame.

#draft #OC
8💔2😍1
Now I'm a wound dressed in Sunday clothes,
a bleeding hymn that nobody knows,
smiling through the sermons they feed,
choking on the love I bleed.

#OC #draft
💔43
At night,
I press my ear to your chest—
your heartbeat a lullaby in a language
I’ve forgotten how to speak.

I want to crawl inside that rhythm,
let it drown out the static in my veins.

But my hands are full of broken glass,
and I won’t stain your sheets red.

#draft #OC
7😍1
You keep offering your love
like a bandage over a bullet wound.

And I keep letting you,
because watching you try
is the only proof I have left
that I was ever worth the effort.

#OC
12🥰1
When she sings,
the notes stick in my ribs
like fractured wings.

I want to warn her:
'Stop feeding the thing that starves itself.'

But my mouth is full of feathers
and apologies that won’t survive the air.


#OC
6👏5💔1
A Museum of Broken Promises;

I curate my failures
in glass cases—
the vows I couldn’t keep,
the hands I let slip away,
the love letters
I wrote but never sent.

You walk through the exhibits,
pause at each display,
and whisper to the shadows:
"We have time yet
to make new ones."


#OC
6💘1
She bottled every storm in her veins
and sold them as perfume—
"Eau de Apocalypse,"

worn best by women
who smile while drowning.

#OC
13💘2
I was so busy holding the sun
that no one told me
even stars collapse.

#OC
16❤‍🔥4💔1
Trophy child.


You were the sun,
and I was the weed
growing crooked
in your golden light.
A ghost in your shadow.

Every trophy you raised
cast a longer shadow—
my A’s were alright,
my wins were
"That's nice, dear,"


my voice was background noise
to your standing ovation.

Every
"Why can’t you be more like them?"

a death sentence to my fragile soul,
an exile.

Your name was a monument;
mine, a footnote
on the family tree.
__

One day I’ll stop
counting myself
in your leftover light.

One day I’ll be
someone's sun,

not the ghost in your blinding lights.

#OC
11❤‍🔥21
I catch my mother staring sometimes,
her eyes tracing the hollows
where my cheeks have given up.

She doesn't recognize
my emaciated frame,
ashen face,
or my brittle voice.

She doesn’t recognize the thing
that’s wearing her daughter’s skin.

Neither do I.

#OC
12💔4
I’m tired of being your muse,
your beautiful and tragic thing.

You don’t love me,
you love the pain
my suffering brings.

You love the idea of me,
not the mess that I am.

#OC #draft
7❤‍🔥3
They said "supporting role"
like it wasn’t a death sentence.

Like I didn’t lie awake
praying for one shot,
a single chance
to prove my bones
weren’t made of your leftovers.

To prove I wasn't just there
to elevate you.

To prove my own worth.
____


I’ll rewrite the story
in my own handwriting.

Next season,
they’ll chant my name
till your trophies
gather dust.

#OC #draft
10❤‍🔥6
I'll kiss your lips
but taste the end,
write "forever"
and play pretend;

that promises
won't turn to dust,
that wanting you
won't break my trust.

#OC
12💘2
I have grown familiar;

With kissing apologies
into the mouths of men
who mistake mercy
for weakness.

With being a season
someone outgrows
when the weather changes.

With writing "stay"
in languages
they refuse to learn.

#OC
8💔3