《 Nyx Thinks 》
1.16K subscribers
112 photos
1 link
And I would lay down to silence my thoughts,
soothe my wounds, and not pick them apart;
Rest my tired eyes for a while.

https://t.me/boost/Nyx_thinks

But I do not know,
where home is.

©️Nyx_Thinks

Contact via : @Nyxthinks_mail_bot
Download Telegram
The walls whisper secrets,
long forgotten,
Tales of the people
who once called it their own.

Their voices echo,
but now begotten,
In the vacant rooms,
now stripped to the bone.

#scribble #draft
15👌1
We rip each other apart,
raw and bloody.

Angry words,
Venomous stares,
Pointed fingers;
Raging tides filled with blood.

It would be a lie,
If I said I never wished for your downfall,
If I refused that there were times I wanted you dead;
You too have my blood on your hands though,
A mutual hate filled with some twisted affection.

A predator hunting a predator.

#OC #draft Twisted fate [Draft 08]
🕊83💔2
You are the one, carving sins,
yet it is my hand, that feels soiled.

You are the one, surrounded by rotting flesh,
yet it is my being, that smells putrid,
my skin, that seems tainted.

Besrmiched. Blemished.

Just for I'm your child,
am I a monster?
Is it in my blood, father?

#OC #draft
❤‍🔥83🔥2
Slowly, carefully, please stretch your arms out...

Reach for me quietly, tenderly,
grab me tightly and don't let me go.

I'm a wounded animal,
scared and writhing;
I may hurt you,
wrapped in the cocoon
of my own suffering and madness,
but please do not leave me,
for the beasts to feast.

It's not my intention to hurt you.
How can I? You are my salvation.

Save me.
Save me.
Don't let me go.


#OC #draft
9👍1
You ripped my heart,
right out of my mouth,
and I had to pretend it was alright.

Could not raise my eyes,
could not raise my voice,
because 'we' are lovers, darling.
Walking on the same tight rope,
Bound by an ominous red string of fate.


#OC #draft [Twisted Fate : 09]
❤‍🔥114
I thought of your warmth,
as the ambrosia to my dying soul;
Untill I realised,
It was the poison killing me slowly.

#draft #Scribble
12❤‍🔥2🔥2
"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
I am not what I am;

I am the empty chair at the table,
the skipped heartbeat, the unlit candle.

I am the ghost in the grocery aisle,
tracing the prices of my worth.

I am the hunger and the hollow,
the prayer and the punishment.

And still, beneath the snowdrift of my skin,
something trembles—
not yet dead, not yet gone

#shortpoetry #draft
7👍1💔1
Teacups tremble in my grasp—
too fragile for fingers bred to break.
What right have I to porcelain,
when my touch still bruises the air?

#draft
8🕊1😍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
[05] Dear Elijah
Verse 05

I’ll press my palms
to where it bleeds,
and taste the salt
of all you need.
Not fixing, no—
just staying near,
your wounds my home,
your tremors dear.

#draft #DearElijah
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
My therapist says 'trauma'
like it’s a thing to unpack,
not the shrapnel I keep rearranging
in my chest to make a home for.

You say 'stay'
like I haven’t already
burrowed under my own ribs
with a knife for a key.

#draft
3💔1
You map my scars like constellations,
trace the routes of my ruin
with pilgrim’s hands.

I want to scream;
This is no holy land.
These borders shift,
these walls crumble,
and every path leads
to the same dead end.

Still you walk them,
whistling like a man
who’s found water
in the desert
.

#draft
13💘3
Grief does not wear a suit.

It is not polished shoes
or folded handkerchiefs.

It is the raw, red silence
between the priest’s words,
the way your knees forgot how to stand
when the earth took what it was owed.


#draft
8❤‍🔥3
I leave my letters unsent,
my tea half-drunk,
my heart a door left ajar—
not enough to let you in,
not enough to tell you to leave.

You linger in the threshold,
a silhouette against the dawn,
waiting for a sign
I am too terrified to give.

#draft
8
I'm not a poet.
I'm a wound that bleeds ink.

These words are
the wretched shadow of a sob,
a cry that never left my lungs.

#draft
8❤‍🔥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