Author: b-side junkie

To stop crying

It’s to try and forget about you

By distracting myself with something

Someone

Else

Until I pass out

And finally fall asleep

Until I wake up and hopefully don’t have to do it all over again

Once this pain is gone

Then it will be alright

But until then

Whatever gets me througg the night

Never again will I be

Or feel the same

I write this from somewhere beyond

I truly love you

I love you and want you to be happy

I see you

And feel you

I do not want anything from you that you are not able or ready to give

I will be fine.

You will be fine.

I let go

With love

And return

To myself

With love.

I just need to be held

I feel you

Just around the corner

Please find me soon.

Smells like blueberries and…

you arrive in the hours

when the moon forgets its name,

moving like a quiet thought

I never learned

to tame.

you touch me like a memory

still trying to exist,

a borrowed breath of something

I was never meant

to miss.

your hands whisper warmth

in a language half-awake,

a promise made of trembling

that dawn will always

break.

you leave as the light

starts softening the air—

some truths only bloom

in the dark

we share.

and I stay in the afterglow,

where your absence feels deep,

counting the shadows

your leaving

still

keeps.

I reach for the quiet

you leave in my room,

the space shaped like longing

that flowers

in gloom.

there’s a softness you carry

that my daylight won’t see,

a tenderness you offer

then take

back

from me.

and every time you vanish

before morning is through,

I’m left wanting the version

of you

that wants

me

too

you come in the hours

when the world forgets sound,

your touch like a secret

that barely feels

found.

you breathe on my shoulder

like a half-written vow,

a moment that trembles

but never learns

how.

you leave with the night

before truth can appear—

some hearts only bloom

when no daylight

is near.

and I lie in the hush

where your warmth used to be,

wanting the part of you

you never

gave

me.

I kept a little clock

on the far side of my shelf—

the kind that ticks politely

and never calls attention

to itself.

It came with a tiny key

meant to wind its quiet heart,

but the person who owned it

never bothered

to start.

They always said they’d fix it

“when things finally calm down,”

as if time waits politely

for anyone

in town.

So the clock sat still

in a dignified freeze—

like a butler abandoned

at a long-canceled

tea.

It practiced keeping rhythm

even though it couldn’t move,

trying to prove

(again and again)

that it had something

to prove.

It polished its own brass face

with a stubborn, lonely shine,

murmuring to the silence,

“One day… someone

will call me

mine.”

But days slipped by

in the way days do—

quiet, careless,

unaware

they’re being cruel.

Dust gathered like gossip

around its frozen grin,

and the clock thought,

“Strange…

I’m here,

but I’m not

let in.”

Then one soft morning,

a visitor strolling through

noticed how the clock

still gleamed

like something

true.

They lifted it gently—

the care was almost art—

and wound the little key

straight into

its start.

The gears woke gasping

like someone who forgot

how good it feels

to matter

in a place

you’re not.

And time began again—

not loudly,

not bold—

just a steady, grateful heartbeat

in a room

that wasn’t cold.

Back on the old shelf,

its absence made a hush—

not dramatic,

just a pause

that made the air

go still

and blush.

The former owner blinked at it,

confused by the new space,

feeling something hollow

slip across

their face.

They muttered,

“Odd…

I didn’t realize

you just needed

to be wound.”

But clocks remember touch—

the kind that’s

finally

found.

And regret?

It ticks quietly

in the corners

of the mind—

the sound of chances wasted

by someone

who didn’t

find

the time

I had tea with the universe late last night,

it said, “Kid, your chaos is looking alright.”

So I tightened my shoelace of questionable fate,

and strolled past tomorrow — already running late.

A pigeon in glasses whispered, “Time is a trick,”

then lectured a lamppost on not glowing too quick.

I nodded politely; I love bird intellect,

even when none of their facts reconnect.

My shadow was drunk and confessed it was bored,

said it wanted a raise or at least an award.

I told it to chill, take a nap, take a breath—

it fainted dramatically, playing dead (not death).

A fortune cookie warned me, “Don’t follow the rules,”

but I dropped it in tea because I’m nobody’s fool.

Besides, every omen is drenched in cliché,

so I rinse mine with humor and call it gourmet.

Then the moon slid down softly to straighten my crown,

said, “Your glow’s gotten crooked from carrying doubt around.”

So I laughed till it echoed in rooftops and bone—

funny how courage returns when you’re left alone.

And the moral (disguised like a thrift-store coat):

Life’s a storm, yes—but you still stay afloat

by dancing with nonsense, by loving the weird,

by rhyming through moments that once felt feared.

So trust every odd thing that knocks at your door—

the cosmos speaks riddles

so we listen

more.

Casper Wyoming.

🚩 

Major Red Flags

• Lies — even little ones.
• Hot one day, cold the next.
• Hides phone or won’t let you near it
• Never takes blame for anything.
• Only wants to hang out late or in private.
• Avoids talking about the future.
• You’ve never met their friends or family.
• Disappears when things get serious.
• Makes you feel guilty for having needs.
• .Subtle disrespect masked as humor
• “Jokes” that make you uncomfortable.
• Backhanded compliments (“You’re not like other girls”).
  👉 Early boundary testing = future boundary breaking.
• You feel like you have to prove you’re chill. You minimize your needs to keep the peace. You start performing “cool girl” energy. If peace depends on silence, it’s not peace.
• You feel anxious more than happy.
• Says “I’m not ready for a relationship” but acts like you’re together.
• Always has an excuse — for everything.