A Gravity Of My Own

You can’t sell dreams to someone who’s danced with demons in their sleep.

There’s a kind of pain you don’t heal from you learn to carry it differently. I’ve had nights where I didn’t sleep. Not because I couldn’t. Because I refused to close my eyes and meet what waited there.

I made a bed of broken glass. Still, I rose bleeding, smiling.

People talk about survival like it’s noble, poetic. They don’t tell you how ugly it gets. Waking up wishing you hadn’t. Smiling at the world while silently screaming inside.

Don’t whisper fantasies in my ear. I’ve heard screams echo through silence the heavy, suffocating silence that holds your head underwater while your heart begs for a breath.

Your dreams are soft. Mine were ripped from me. And I kept walking.

Ever lost something that wasn’t physical? Not a person. Not a place. Something inside you that shifts your whole gravity? That’s the grief people can’t see. They assume you’re fine. Maybe you are but not the way they think.

I don’t chase the light. I am the shadow that learned to survive without it. I’m not here for pity. I’m not here to inspire. I speak for the ones still carrying broken pieces and somehow keep moving anyway.

So don’t sell me dreams. I walked through nightmares and made it out. I didn’t find peace, I became it. And I’ll never let anyone take that from me again. Not the Devil or God.

YOLO BS

You don’t live once. You live every single day. You only die once.

Living is repetition. Choice on a loop. Waking up with the same flaws, the same potential, the same unfinished work staring back at you like a mirror that refuses to blink. Every day hands you a fresh page, not a hall pass to burn the book. YOLO tells people to chase the noise.

Living daily means building something that survives the silence. Make the best of each day, not because it’s your last, but because it’s yours. That’s discipline disguised as philosophy. That’s purpose without theatrics.

Buon Anno 2026