poetry
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Do we age out of relevance,or just out of being looked at first? Do softening faces lose their gravity,or do they finally stop performing light for people who never intended to stay? If beauty fades,does truth get louder? And when the mirror stops shouting youth, what part of us begins to speak? ©️ 2026 LimitlessStimulus.com
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Just one flawed person.Just one human being…whose frequency harmonizes with my own. Not because we are identical,but because somewhere beneath the noise…our fractures ring out in the same key. Your loneliness humming like a prayer.While I hum wonder like a wound.And somehow, together,it becomes music instead of ache. Not destiny.Not fantasy.Just… recognition. Like two tuning…
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I dreamt he walked around the corner…And when his eyes found mine,we froze there for a moment,eyes already brimming with tearsbefore either of us could speak. Not from sorrow,but from recognition. We ran to each otherlike two lost things finally returned.Arms wrapped tight enoughto hold back time itself. Familiarity I hadn’t tasted in far, far…
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••• I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams… . … and until you’ve quietly planned your exit from this world in secret silence only to stay at the very last minute… because the thought of hurting the people you love in any way becomes its own kind of suffering… . … until you’ve…
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This poem tears apart the illusion that weight gain equals happiness. Beneath a “healthy” body might be something starved, hollow, and quietly decaying—an inner life no one bothers to see. Dark, raw, and unapologetic, it exposes the cost of being visibly fine while starving inside.
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A poem about doomscrolling, nervous-system triage, and eating a cream-cheese-loaded bagel while the world burns—because being human is horrifying, sacred, and absurd.
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A philosophical poem exploring time, perception, and consciousness—blending science, Hermetic philosophy, and existential reflection to question whether reality is fixed, or simply a frequency we’ve learned to believe.
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We cling to our perspectives like crowns and call them truth. But what if every viewpoint is just one color in a much larger spectrum? A poetic meditation on certainty, ego, and the quiet power of multiplicity.
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A meditation on lost joy, existential misalignment, and the lingering echo of survival.
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