It was a bit rushed like my occasional short stories are.. idk i needa work on that...

(Note that the previous entry was also from this day. That's not an error.)

Dark Streets

The unnamed girl wandered the streets, calloused, fragile feet numb to the pebbles and the glass shards that once filled window frames or housed cheap beer. Now, the only purpose they served was to inflict pain simply through their existence. The girl already did this enough. Relaxed but ever-alert, she walked without a destination in mind but that of the comforting darkness shared by all, in the end. Only those with a life can fear losing it.

The unnamed girl wandered the streets, hunger constant but faded. She didn't mind—it was a slow sunset, but an end nonetheless. Or it would have been, had she not met him. A boy in rags, like her. A boy, apparently gaunt, like her. A boy. He was not a Husk, like the rest—not a faceless shadow, but a dead thing. Like her.

When the boy—name ungiven, unrequested—offered her cheese, the unnamed girl felt an indescribable sense of wrongness, of danger. The boy—with a smile only construable as sinister, with the pointy teeth it displayed—reached a blood- and dirt-stained hand toward her, with a piece of cheese held between the sharpened fingernails. The girl had only eaten rats or garbage. She didn't dare turn, lest she expose her back. It didn't matter, in the end.

Okay I actually decided to get rid of the last bit/the end cuz it was just... gore and I doubt anyone wants to read that and it was probably pointless and stupid and it seems fine how it is rn.

Part of why I delayed posting this for so long was cuz that ending (that I removed, that isn't present here) was edgy and.. yeah. Also maybe not fit for the Shard. Sigh.

— An unnamed girl

O summer storm, I hear your howls.

Your cries for help that I hide from.

Your tears fall and blow,

Through the light,

To pelt my window, alert me of your fright.

O, summer storm, your tears and cries subside.

I imagine you like me—silently crying slowly in bed,

Depressed and [illegible word].

O, summer storm, don't leave me now.

I need your company, you soothe me, you know?

I still hear your sniffles, from under your blankets.

Still our tears trickle, yours pure, mine once-red.

Body

I lay in bed, getting up a struggle.

When I do I move oddly,

Walking into the walls,

Vision blurry, head spinny,

I feel the toll.

Yet U don't care about my body—

That's why it has scars.

It's not even my own,

Not this headache, hunger, thirst.

So what if I'm tired—unable to focus, always drifted?

It could be much worse.

If what my mind sees was true—if I did what I yearn to,

I would be dead, or much, much worse.

Quality of a Human LLM

I write well, I presume, and they say.

Yet it comes too easy—all cliché.

I write well, but it means nothing—

Just the output of a husk-of-a-human LLM.

There is another, longer story that I wrote this day as well, but not can't copy it down from my notebook right now and... it also has gore and stuff so idk if suitable for the Shard. I'll do a CW if I do post it. It'll just be the next post, if I do.

- Lily

Name

What's my name?

I don't know.

Who am I?

Ibid, ditto.

Why don't I know my name?

Why is it so hard

To understand my heart?

I am so lost.

I'm confused, sos.

I don't know anymore...

Please can you help me?

Understand,

Help me,

Find my name again.

Note that in that last line, the word "name" may have been something else, perhaps "way" or something. I can't always read my handwriting  

- ∆

Uncertain;Fluid

I fluctuate between

Wanting and knowing and

Asking and telling

And doubting and

The colors I like and

The name I

am, and

Me,

Am I a she or a he,

Both, or an enby?

Lily or Ash or

Something else?

How can I be me when

I see me as wrong, bad?

- ∆

Shorts

At last, I

want to wear them, the

cute shorts I

got yesterday.

Shorts for the summer—

legs won't be hot.

I'm wearing a t-shirt, too,

no longer hiding,

or am I?

At Home

I feel at home—the first time in

a while, or life.

Sitting on my bed in

these bicolor linens and

fingerless gloves, surrounded

by journals, Devil Town on

repeat.

I feel at home, sitting

cross-legged on my

bed with joy and

inspiration or

motivation,

to live—

just minutes after wishing

I was dead.

Ado, what happened to my writing, why is it so crappy in these.

- The Being Formerly Known As @6 7

Also that title is not a mistake. It's just me tryna be deep...

Can't Tell

I can't say my

Deepest fears, cuz

Then they'll

Nor was that.

- usseewa wit' an uppercase 'u'

The 

I now listen,

to the song not heard—

not played.

The song from Her.

Reading this next one ("Like Atlas") again, it kinda sucks. I definitely coulda done better...

Like Atlas

I feel sometimes an

Immense burden—

That of humanity.

It weighs on me,

And I feel guilty,

And helpless.

Doomsday

"If the world ended tomorrow,

and it could."

"If I died, I'd be fine."

But what did She have to say,

about Doomsday?

Nietzsche

A name repeated at

a glowing screen at

two AM.

Nietzsche. Nietzsche.

Nietzsche. Gott ist Tot.

[Illegible]. Not-moving— [I think that's what I wrote?]

No-sleep, grinning is-strained.

Not-sure-how-to-act,

Sitting in that

Grey plastic room in

The corner of

The room—my room.

Staying Up

Staying up only to

Wake up early and

Staying up late with

Droopy eyes and

A numbing brain that [?]

Craves sleep.

- Me

Paralysis

I am not me—

I cannot breathe,

Nor can I think,

For every thought thought

Is two more worries wrought.

Faded Bliss

I can't remember her,

Not how I'd like.

Our brief friendship,

The possibility for more.

I try to remember,

I don't want to forget—

Despite the pain

of regret.

See Her

I wish I could see her,

gain.

I wish I could be with her,

once more.

Am I better off

forgetting?

Déjà Vu

I've been here, before.

Lost a friend,

never seen again.

Can I regain it?

Don't Know

I don't know,

If I loved her—

Or if I still do.

Is it ruined?

Or is this just my mood?

Sickness

My head hurts,

Sitting on this

unmade bed with

a pile of books

at my feet—

too much to read.

Love Poems

Sitting on this

unmade bed with

a book of poems to

keep me occupied, but

they only remind me of

her. Of what could've been,

what could be,

what I don't have.

I am sitting on this

unmade bed,

an aching head and

book of heartbreak to

keep me company

in this foreign-familar land.

Poet Girl

I wish I were a

poet girl, like her—

a heartbroken poet girl,

whose words drown me.

Never Happened

I didn't even

get a heartbreak.

Didn't get to

get to love her.

- No heart to break?

Purpose of Hiding

I see clearer when—

I take this veil from my eyes.

So then ehy do I hide?

For style or from fear?

Music

Why do I deny myself the

ever-soothing pleasure I

was without for so long?

When will I allow my life to

return to normal?

Will it—or I—ever?

Buzz

The world has been so quiet,

In these past weeks.

No buzzing, no phone—[illegible word],

Time for peace,

Yet have I used it?

In some moments, I think back,

To what once was—

What can never be again.

Lives, Innumerable

So much to read—to know.

So many experiences—so many thoughts.

So much pain—why can't I feel it all?

The Leaf

A conversation remembered,

     from all that time ago—

          from childhood.

A conversation...

     About a leaf,

          The sun,

               And life.

Love?

Did I love her—does it matter?

My first—second?—love?

Would that I could,

See her again.

Though it wouldn't be the same.

So could I have just stayed there?

With her?

Forever?

- Someone, Somewhere, Somehow

Framework of Perception

How should we think about—and see—things?

People, the world—our thoughts.

What is the right way—and what is seen as right?

How will that change?

If views change—modify, improve?—

Then how are we to know if

What society believes,

Is not wrong—waiting for change?

If what everyone believes—even me—

Is in truth harmful?

How should I think about my thoughts and my mind,

And the minds of those around me,

And my place in the world,

And that of my mond—my thoughts.

- A sad girl?

False Dichotomy

We have taught ourselves that

To be human is to fit into the binary—

Moreso to be constrained within that box.

But this is a false dichotomy—

An unnecessary binary—who gives a storm if

You want to wear suits or skirts—or both, or neither?

Ehy do they assign is to one—

Something we have no choice in—[illegible word]

And reluctantly follow along with all our lives because—

That is what we are told—what we see.

Deeply gendered—

Names, honorifics, but what does it matter?

Does it make any storming sense to

Define us by something as

Arbitrary as

How we might perpetuate this miserable and wonderful species?

Boys and girls—women and men,

What's the use?

Hannah or Hammond—what's the point?

Why be forced to use one—

Not even choose one—

I wouldn't miss "miss," mister or missus.

So see free of these [illegible word]—

Turn it all to Ash.

We are making progress—seeing better—

In years past I may have been dead on the streets or

going through the motions that

Some fools—or all—say I should.

Sorry I haven't been posting more frequently.

- Who knows

I must learn, through life.

"If it's easy am I doing it right?"

Does it matter?

Nature

We were mot meant for classification—nothing was.

It doesn't just fit

into neat little boxes or

boxes within boxes, some walled off and others

connected with tunnels and red yarn.

Confidence

I now see—

what they say.

I can believe—

in myself—my voice, my body, my mind.

I can appreciate—

and, finally,

love myself.

Place, Liminal Space

Lily sat alone—hear down, but watching. They had sent her here the day before, and she'd done much of nothing all last evening. Now, eyes weary yet unable to rest, Lily picked at rubbery eggs as the others chatted. There was even one girl reading a book. Even though that girl wasn't actively socializing, Lily had seen her do so last evening. Plus, she at least had a book. Lily had asked about books that night after lying awake for what felt for hours. Apparently, she had to have brought her own—Lily had arrived with nothing but hospital scrubs. They probably had her old clothes somewhere, but ehe hadn't brought any books—that wasn't even a thought.

Lily hugged her unsleeved arms close, not hungry—she hadn't had an appetite lately, and the food didn't help. Lily didn't want to be here, but she didn't have much of a choice. She wanted to at least talk to some of the others—it might help time pass quicker. However, she... found it very difficult. It's not like they'd hear her, anyway. And if she couldn't think of anything to say?

Lily had to try. If she was going to survive this place, and do so when she got out, she'd need to actually do something—especially if the people here wouldn't.

Note: my handwriting is messy and these are all handwritten so some words I couldn't/am too tired to figure out so and I can't remember yeah..

In a World

Without all society, we

could not classify us as one

this that, but

just one with a quality—behaviour.

In a world like that we'd

have a different experience and

no carr of suppressors, only

eccentrics and "old bugs."

We'd have no care and no understanding but

every thought and action and

way of life,

wouldn't be seen as—defined as—

something abnormal, when

I believe we are all insane.

Dark World

The world is dark—a

silent alley in perpetual night silence, or

a silent night broken by shouts and cries of anguish,

cries for help that fall on deaf ears—

deaf from their owner's own cries.

Light World

The world is a light place—a

silent field and a summer afternoon bliss, or

laughter and chatter from friends and from lovers,

sound that you can close your eyes and drift to,

or join in and forget.

Grey World

The world is a grey place—a

numbing loop where time has no meaning, and

the fog is too thick in your mind to break free,

fog you don't notice, for it had always been there,

fog that obscures as you walk off the edge.

Simply joyous!

- Lily

I wish I could spend

every day with her.

If only I had not returned.

If only I had not left.

Each day of those few

were the best of my life—

and the start of a new

one.

Each day I sought her,

Sat sown, talked.

Just sitting by her,

Was more than

I could ask for.

Doing anything,

with her,

no matter how boring,

was what made the days,

something I wanted.

Each second I smiled.

Did I love her, did she me?

Now I'll never know.

- Lily

Hangin' wit' da Girls

Finally, I feel more alive than I ever have.

More connected to reality, to these other living being.

I feel like one of them, though my body still needs fixin'.

Social Stuntin'

I do it so they laugh—always have.

I feel like I gotta vomit—but it's aight.

I meed to fit in, stand out, be one, a human, just a girl.

i wrote so much and so little..

- Lily

Always "not quite"—never explainable.

I can never explain, never tell them what I am.

Undecided, confused—no label letting me claim it.

Why can't I ever be?

Guess i only wrote on ethat day, hmmm ..

- Lily

Walls of Memories

Markings on the wall—

Symbols and icons that reference the life of a person you will never meet.

It's art—

The soul of a community—

Spanning the ages—the lives.

Shared ideas, thoughts, emotion, meaning.

Erased—for order or cleanliness.

Years and lives, gone, before I can add mine.

Lines

Lines—painful reminders triggering thoughts and images unwanted.

Lines, murdering me from within my fragile mind.

Lines—why must everything remind me of the body I'm stuck in?

TW suicide

- Lily

I apologize if these are repetitive or stupid  

Whoa, italic emoji? Weeeeiiiirdd

edit: nvm it went away lol

Impossible

I can't think—can’t speak,

For if I do I will die.

Though I'm already dying,

My brain is frying,

I'm on the brink,

Yet I can't let myself think.

I need to get better,

I can't remember,

Because memories are thoughts,

And I must not return.

Hovering

I can't stand them

Standing, hand on the back of my chair,

Hovering while I'm suffering.

Dress Code

Useless rules,

Absolute crap,

Killing my joy—

What makes me feel me.

Being Me

I just want to be me,

Without all these comments,

Innocent or not, it hurts,

It's uncomfortable,

It makes the thoughts resurface.

Sound

The voices won't stop,

They yell all day, all night,

Not letting me speak,

Encouraging me to hurt again,

To feel something, do something—

To match their energy.

They make me return,

To the place I dreaded,

Though now there's no escape,

From the voices inside and out,

No escape,

From the torturous hell—

The mirage of an oasis,

The very hell I wanted to escape.

A mimic of my hellish life,

Torture machines, just noise—

The very thing I wanted,

Causing me the pain I ran from.

- Lily

Jen, or Night Life

Finally, it was night again. Jen sighed in relief as she pulled the pink hoodie on. She was a different person at home—herself. She sat on her bed and opened her laptop—she could be herself, just… not like this. Jen put on her headphones and entered the world of her dreams—a place she could be around others and be herself. She could be Jen.

- Lily

Also, if you read the banner, you'll see that I am feeling much better, at least as I am writing this on 2026/05/13.

WwwwWw

Lingo, is ver neet.

So many meanings, it d’p’n’ds on le context.

Lingo changes, adapts,

Nuevo es created,

Neo.

Immeasurable slang, vast libs per field,

Field no warau,

Property: un field o un holding?

Whether physical o digital, seems 2b immaterial.

Interchangeable, broken.

A varied style from a broken mind,

Unreadable halting streams in an attempt 2b unique.

Meaning of it, what is?

Bak 2 la point, shalt I henceforth: return 2;

F@k3d: broken multilingualism.

ファンタジーの utilization.

There b 2 grande un compendium de los linguas—

Too “too” to use.

Mucho opciones.

Y esa es 42; no explanacion para tu.

The 42 comes from the subtlety, the variety, the… natural selection, of speech, 2 usar.

Muy, muy, words and abbrs., acronyms and slang, lingos et jargon, dialects, regional differences, accents, changes in meaning, meanings anew, neologisms, portmanteus, a dream.

No’ Enuff

Ye’, I don’ kno’ enuff,

I preten’ 2b tuff,

Bu’ I’ js that—a preten’r,

An’ not e’en a master, a' tht.

Everything You Think You Know

I listen as they say,

The things they’ve been told,

For years as a child,

These statements they’ve filed,

As fact.

They believe with such adamance,

In these words-now-truths,

Repeated over the years,

Source forgotten.

And I see them now.

How can I think,

How can I speak,

When I question everything?

I constantly double-check,

I continuously re-assess.

- Lily

My chest feels as though it’s collapsing,

I feel the weight crushing my ribs,

Making it hard to breathe,

Yet painful to not.

Breathe set to manual,

A conscious, painful effort.

I feel as though I cannot breathe deeply,

They are all too shallow.

I feel as though my chest is crushed,

My ribs puncturing the organs,

Exposed, heart and lungs on display,

I bring my hands and arms up.

I hug myself, the only comfort.

Curl up, become smaller,

All parts closer to each other.

I cannot bear it otherwise, cannot breathe.

I feel my chest collapsing,

I must protect it,

I feel pain, discomfort,

Nothing is right.

Labelled, not Sealed

Do not let a label constrain you.

Do not treat it as a fate sealed,

Nor an identity or future decided.

It is simply an adjective,

One you can reject, embrace, or ignore.

Do not be afraid to deny a label,

Even one self-imposed.

Do not be afraid to change,

Realize it is the label holding you back,

A word, a term,

To describe you in a moment.

Labels are fluid;

Water, not concrete.

Labels move with you, changing with you.

They do not surround you, sealing you in their mold of your current self.

Allow yourself to recognize that

You are allowed to change;

You do not need to stay the same—

Trapped in the intangible iron maiden of the mind.

Perfection

I hold myself to standards so high.

In my eyes, I need to be perfect.

Anything else is painful.

Each mistake feels like a cut to the wrist,

Each piece of criticism, however constructive, just makes me want to run.

I think of myself so capable that I struggle in basic functions.

I cannot start, for I must be perfect and thus existence is excruciating as I watch myself fail.

I live for the praise, the validation of my expectations.

I die with each failure, each error, each wrong word, each oversight, each essay I didn’t put enough effort into.

I expect to fail thinking it won’t hurt as much when I do.

It doesn’t work.

I expect to fail but still hope I’ll manage to do well.

And I do well,

Except when I don’t.

And then after doing well I forget,

And then I see my grade,

Something others would be content with,

Others ecstatic,

Still others would scoff at.

I only feel pain,

Hatred and shame.

How could I do this?

At least it’s over.

I am beginning to realize,

That I should rethink my mind.

They’re not looking for perfection—something I cannot produce, no longer.

Burnout claims lives,

I should not let it take mine.

I’m not “special” or “gifted” or “smart,”

I’m just another one of many,

Too dumb to realize,

Too dumb to be truly competent,

Too dumb to come to terms with being,

Just another faceless being.

I'm kinda proud of these, because they convey feelings I've felt for a while, and have been becoming aware of and thinking on for a bit. I don't know how they turned out, but yeah.

- Lily

You matter, you are loved.

You have others,

Who care.

I care.

You are loved,

You deserve joy.

You deserve this compassion,

You can allow yourself it, you deserve to feel loved, to feel… good.

- Lily

Broken Record… Or Something…

I’m a fool, and maybe that’s okay.

I don’t need to stay the same, I can change.

I can simply accept I am wrong and update my mind.

I, the broken record, just repeating myself.

Stuck in a loop, a different kind of static.

Getting nowhere, not even thinking.

I write the same things I did last evening.

And so I should change, somehow.

I’m not quite sure how, but I should change.

I need to accept that what I write is trash,

And take up a different hat.

- Lily

Am I really what they say,

What I’ve grown up being told, believing,

An act I kept up, all the while a voice in my head telling me “this is not you”?

It said “you don’t actually want this,” and I suppressed it out of fear.

Others and I crafted my identity, and I feared contradicting them, changing, rejecting what they thought I was—my purpose, my pride, the reason I was loved?

Though the voice questioned if interests had changed—if I was just playing along—I kept on a mask, and now suffer the aftermath.

I tried, in my own ways,

To pursue what my chained heart desired.

I no longer want the weight of these labels,

I don’t want it to become so part of how others see me,

That I ignore the voice telling me,

That this is wrong.

I don’t want these shackles,

Restraining me because they are established.

I want freedom,

No expectations of my identity,

Not so many I fear living.

Not Speaking

Not speaking, for fear of them not hearing.

Not speaking, for fear of being wrong.

Not thinking, for fear of being right,

Though not speaking, for fear of being not.

Disaster Desired

I want a break from the monotony,

I want something that matters,

Not something hyped-up, or made-up, for lack of life’s such.

I want something perhaps painful,

Something a struggle, something life-changing,

Something we together experience,

An interruption, an escape.

An outage in class,

Winds blowing so fast,

Fire and broken glass,

Or a blizzard and task.

A siren for shelter,

Any break from the swelter,

Shared hardship so others—so I—

Can feel together.

I want an earthquake, a storm,

Anything to break the norm.

An excuse the live,

A dose of pain.

A turn of the knob,

Clearing up the signal,

Static no longer,

Need to see clearer.

I want to run through the night,

Fearing, surviving,

Towards the light,

Or forever, never arriving.

Daydream of a Different Her

A girl, happy;

A girl I can’t imagine?

Me, happy;

A life I see ahead.

Discovering myself,

Learning to live,

Reclaiming my body, my mind,

From the oppressive dark cramped closet.

Reclaiming myself,

Identity, mine.

Me, free.

At last, free.

- Lily

Two Tools

The pen and the pencil—

Two different tools.

Permanence and impermanence—

Certainty and tolerance.

Neither optimal,

Mistakes both ways,

Give and take.

Confusion at the Unthinkable

Unable to ponder—

I try to, my mind refuses to think.

Unable to breathe—

Too much, feeling sick.

So sick—

From eating, from thinking.

But I must—

Must know, to live a life.

I don’t know what’s wrong,

What’s real or what’s right,

I don’t know what to think,

Yet I think too much.

What do I believe?

TW Suicidal Ideation

Independence

I don’t want to exist without choice—

No longer.

I want to live, have a self.

I want freedom, not fear.

Life, not mindlessness—

Blind following—

Helplessness and compliance.

I don’t want what I’ve had—

If you can “have” nothing.

Newfoundmind

It feels freeing,

Yet horrifying,

To finally have,

A mind—even the inklings of.

So much change,

So many questions,

And fear.

Yet finally autonomy and awareness.

- Lily