u/crownlessarchive

Your third time’s a charm.
My last trial was pure misery.
I’ve been found guilty as hell,
and I couldn’t care less if you witnessed it.

Who’s going to be the judge?
You?
Me?
Love?
The Lord?

Shrugs.

Denied your father thrice.

Had me begging for an answer—
not once,
not twice.
So ingloriously.

Three in the afternoon.
Hadn’t spoken to you since noon.
Watched your morning from my periphery.

Had a feeling last night
would be the last time
I’d witness you.

Your third time’s a charm.
My last trial was pure misery.
I’ve been charged guilty as hell,
and I’m sure
you’ve witnessed against me.

Marriage? (Selah.)
Forever? (Selah.)
Kids?
Hell nah.
Getting lost?
You sure did.

That would’ve been the third time
I’d have surrendered
to your insignificance.

Seventy-two hours
of pure misery.

You’d found your first girlfriend.
I pity the second.
She’ll hear all about the cynic.
But when the third arrives—
she’ll be your wife.

Your third time’s a charm,
Peter.

— Crownless.

Yes.
I am upset.
Will I ever come across a soul instead
of a ghost that’ll lead me nowhere?

I hate wasting time
and mental energy.
Small talk drains me.
Why do I always choose the wrong ones to spend on my energy?

But never mind.
This is just another time.
Just another trial I shouldn’t have tried.
Yes, blame me.

If I say goodbye, I’ll do it properly.
If that’s to end, on my part it’ll end with dignity.
What was it?
Day number three?
Let me reset my mind and I’ll start again gladly.

— Crownless.

Less than forty-eight hours
and* *you had me.

Before it had time to mean anything,
I was already yours—
though neither of us said it.

Something in me had already leaned
toward you—
too easily.

Inadvertently—
completely—
hooked on something our innocence had not yet learned to fear.

I’d call it funny
if fate hadn’t already claimed it
for something cruel.

The first words I got out of you?
‘I do.’

Of course.

You radiated a purity I thought the
world had lost,
a grace so rare it felt like a
discovery.

You didn't just capture my gaze;
you wove a spell around my soul,
claiming me from crown to toe.

Soul.

I told you
you were a beautiful soul—
you said
no one had ever called you that before.

You felt like something
that wouldn’t survive force.
Not fragile—
just not meant for it.

So I adjusted.
I chose to loosen my grip.
And that was the first time I realized
there was a volatility in me I hadn’t faced yet.

I knew what lived in me.
It was loud,
hard to miss.

You… you never looked like someone
carrying anything that heavy.
And I—
I believed what I could see.

So when it finally surfaced—
it didn’t feel like truth.
It felt like something
that couldn’t possibly belong to you.

No…
not to you—
not to someone
who softened the world just by being in it.

And so I had to face it.

Oh, babe, if only you had told me…
If only there had been the slightest of signs…
I would’ve done anything to shelter that light.

I still think someone like you
should’ve been protected by the heavens
from all that darkness.

But you proved yourself worthy
of that weight—
of all of it.

Oh, you did.

You had the version of me that
was at its purest.
If I’ve ever been able to be selfless
that was for you.

Vulnerability?
Thanks to you.
Your beauty blinded my eyes.
Your grace blinded my heart.

I mistook you for something sacred.
Oh, what a dangerous thing to do—
to place a crown
on someone who was never meant to carry one.

How unfitting—
they named you bright, clear, luminous.
And yet, even the devil
disguises himself as an angel of light.

I cried.

First, because I thought I’d mishandled you.
Then, because I was in love with you.
Finally, because I had lost you.

You chose deception.
You chose to fabricate the most horrendous of lies.
You chose to erase the version I had known of you—
to begin again.

And you never gave me the choice
to forgive you,
to walk beside you.

I tried to understand you later—
no.

I could never have gone that low.

My friends hated you.
I might have lost the love of my life because of you.

And still—
I chose you
every time I could.

And so, I cried—
again,
and again,
and again.

First, I cried for you.
Then, because of you.
In the end—
I cried for myself.

But I did not cry when, years later,
we met again.

And I told you, to your face,
I wished you were dead.

And so it was—
you’d become the first ghost.

— Crownless.

Sometimes I get tired of performing.
Other times I thrive in my ability to.
It’s almost unfair—
but who cares?
I certainly don’t.

As long as I can keep my personas going,
I think I will.
There’s tens of thousands of “me’s” inside of me.
But who’s counting? Not me.
Not this me.

So… who am I? It begs the question.
When did it become so difficult differentiating who I am from who I’m not?
Maybe when I lost track of both of us.
Of all of us.

“Oh,” I look in the mirror—
and I’m speechless.
I don’t even know how to talk to myself anymore.
There’s a storm behind those eyes,
but just as much dullness—
and a flicker of vulnerability.

Which one to trust?
Not even I could tell you.

I blow hot—
and I blow cold.
Who are you coming home to?
Neither of us is ever sure.
Are you coming home to anybody at all?

I can carry the weight of the hatred from the world—
but not of my own.
No.
When I become the person I can’t stand to face…
there’s no peace.

You were right to call me egocentric.
Sharpest mind I’ve ever known—for a reason.
But now there’s so many of us in this room…
and I stand so calm across from you all—
because I’m sedated.

“Slow down.”
Why does everything feel slowed down?
“There’s nothing urgent.”
It’s a sense of calmness that’s fabricated.
I’m slightly out of my mind.

Slightly.

And when the next dose came—
I could barely keep my eyes open.
I couldn’t walk a straight line.
“Relax,” it repeats.

My vision is blurry and my mind is clouded.
“You need it. Just for now.”
But how long is “now”?

“Let’s start getting you off those.”
No.

Not now.
Not yet.

Not when that’s the only moment
my insanity meets the peaceful serenity it comes with
for just a couple of hours.

I will—I tell myself.
But not now.

I’d rather be a hippie-like drugged down
than detoxified—
in front of everyone,
including myself.

There’s a reputation to keep.
Tens of thousands of “me’s”.

I’m calmer, aren’t I?
But at what cost?
What for?
And most importantly—
for how much longer?

It fires both ways.
The devastating anger will simmer no matter what.

Short temper.
Filters slipping.
Oh, it’s growing again.

Time for another one.

Feet unsteady, stumbling steps.
You’re drifting me off to dreamland…
Vision getting dimmer.
You’re drifting me off to another land…

I can’t even hate you.

One day,
you’ll drift me off to never land…

And I might thank you.

— Crownless.

I remember your taste for ballads

and your blunt honesty.

Your shy smile insisting

on showing me more than I’d seen.

“You’re singing out of tune”, you told me.

James Arthur, Lewis Capaldi were your “go-to’s”

But we went for Taylor Swift that night because…

Why wouldn’t we?

I’m naming names and being very specific ‘cause

I also don’t want to forget.

I had a playlist called “She loves ballads”

but you’ll never know and you would’ve never guessed.

No, I didn’t love you.

But I enjoyed my time with you.

‘Till this day I don’t know what to respond to “Why did you end it?”

It wasn’t problematic.

It wasn’t toxic.

And maybe that was the problem.

PUBG nights? You had no survival instinct.

And your pretty friend? I’d only let them in because well… they were pretty.

And you’d go mad every time I’d say that.

Rightfully so.

Those insecurities I didn’t take care of.

The wonderings I didn’t quite know how to heal.

Because I knew they had foundations.

And even if I were the best of deceivers, there was no point in denying that.

My eyes would’ve betrayed me.

And for some reason, I couldn’t lie to your eyes.

I was friends with your dad.

Your mom was surprisingly welcoming.

Hell, even your dogs loved me.

I miss Joy and Daisie.

Joy was unquestionably my girl and you’d also get jealous of that—hahaa.

I hope that if you ever do—or did—you also look back at it fondly.

I was your first and if I had had that awareness… I wish I’d been better to you.

Nonetheless, I think you always felt my warmth…

I was never half there.

If I’d ever hold you, I’d do it with intention.

With presence.

I enjoyed feeling your heart and made sure you’d always feel mine.

That’s something I can take pride in.

If anything, I liked you enough to regret breaking up with you.

We could’ve been happy for longer…

But I’ll never know.

Your schedules got in the way.

My medicines messed with my brain.

I wasn’t thinking straight.

I wasn’t thinking.

I did something I’d hope my character—

Or whatever’s left of it—would never do again.

But I did.

You don’t know about that.

And you never will.

You defended me.

Aries fiery.

You’d fight me.

But right after? Laugh.

And take all of my mannerisms.

I loved that about you.

I was fond of many things about you.

It sucks I couldn’t love you.

But… now I think I could’ve… over time.

I didn’t give us enough time.

You said I was out of tune—

maybe you were right.

But no!

As a musician, I insist.

“Love story” is on a slower tempo.

I proved you so.

But you were the singer and Heaven forbid I wipe that smile off your lips.

I really loved your smile.

My heart would soften—quietly—

every time it found me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind,

I think you never felt like you were enough—

but I promise you…

if anything was a problem,

it wasn’t that.

Well—“what was it then?”

you would’ve asked me.

I know what it was now.

I’ve matured enough to face it.

I’m just late…

as I’ve become accustomed to.

And this armor of confidence I put on?

It would crumble to pieces.

Because I still can’t look into your eyes

without remembering

the innocence in them.

It was a mixture, Joonie.

One I’ve grown accustomed to repeating.

Timing? Yes.

Schedules? Yes.

My growing instability? Yes.

Your disarming innocence? Yes.

The fragments of consciousness

I still had left?

Yes.

I saw how far it could go.

I let it get close—

closer than I should have.

And I wasn’t brave enough for that—

or cruel enough.

I was willing to let you hate me.

But not to leading us somewhere I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for.

And so we had one last PUBG night…

One last banter night…

One last language lesson night…

One last “you’re playing it too slow” night…

And one last

“you’re singing out of tune” night.

— Crownless.

Caught myself thinking of you today.
A small smile twitching on my lips.
How long has it been? Nearly a decade.
You are my definition of a teenage love—
consuming, fiery, ardent, passionate.

Except—I was nineteen.

But across from you?
I’d become the bubbliest three-year-old.
Happily.
No shame. No regrets.

I’ve learned to remember you as a fond memory.
If we were to see each other again—
“I’d smile at you as if nothing had happened.”
Remember that line? I do.
With the utmost sincere smile.

I remember you, and I don’t think you’re a memory I want to fade.
I’ve truly learned to hold you as a fond memory—
despite everything.

It’s been a while since my mind changed on it.
“Do you ever see each other together again?”
That was my dream.
For one, two, three, four… five years.
Maybe more.

But our time has passed.
Hasn’t it?
Don’t you think so? I know you do.
But you’re still not a memory I want to forget—
even as my brain slowly begins to.

Who is there to blame?
Our ages? Damn ol’ timing?
The pharmaceutical industry?
You?
Me?

Maybe neither. Perhaps all of it.

You made me grow.
And I don’t quite know how to phrase it—
you forced me to grow.
And you pushed me to my descent.

You saw the brightest side of me—
and you also saw the darkest.
Neither made you flinch.
Instead, you stepped onto them.
And that’s still what I look for in everyone since you.

This isn’t as polished as I’d hoped,
but I find peace in knowing I’ve told you everything
I wanted—and needed—you to hear.
Not a single iota held back.
It might’ve been late… but I did.

Copious notes I’d take before calling you, seeing you,
or spamming you while you were asleep—
because I didn’t want to lose track of where I was going,
nor forget anything I wanted to say.
Wish I had kept that notebook.

You had me at your feet.
And you still do.
At any time.
And I’ve never been happier than being humbled,
having the honor to be right there.

But I wouldn’t dare add to
or subtract from our history.

I saw my life with you,
and I like to think that at some point—
when you were the blindest—
you did too.

Trust me, like you once did.
Like I still do.

You are my reminder of everything good I can be,
and the mirror of my lowest—my worst.
Of everything I want.
Of everything I lost.
And of the—cliché—part of me
that will always be yours.

— Crownless.

Same old cliché.
Right person, wrong time, wrong me.
Yes, me.
Things tend to revolve around me
including destruction.

I liked you. I really did. I hadn’t in the longest time.
You were just my type. Just right.
Exactly what I needed. What I need.
You brought back the warmth in me. The need to care.
You did need me to take care of you. And I wanted to.

You embraced my dreams, my tastes, my mannerisms, my control.
You saw your future with me. You trusted me.
And I’m so sorry I couldn’t meet you where you were.
I still don’t think I can. And I lament that.

Every now and then I fear us crossing paths again. I pray you don’t notice me; I’d be too ashamed for that.
I meant the words I said, I wish I could’ve manifested them into reality. However I made promises I knew I couldn’t keep. And for that I cannot ask forgiveness for I was well-aware of what I was doing.

You saw your future with me.
I knew you’d never be in mine.

I never saw your fire.
I didn’t stick around to see your rage.
Your sweetness makes me think you’d hand me your heart once again.
I’d rather be wrong.

Spending time with you made me feel good.
Your pickup line was something I’d never expected would turn us into something.

Temporary.

But something.

But it was all about me getting to feel again.
That warmth, the caring nature of mine.
You were fragile and I handled you like a piece of porcelain.
Until I disappeared.

You knew I would. Didn’t you?
No. I think you believed me.
Poor you.
I ain’t worthy of your trust.
I ain’t stable enough; nor brave, nor mature, nor…

I’m a coward.
I am a maniac who knows too well how to turn any table, manipulate any mind… lead you wherever I want you to go.
But how pathetic of me. I can’t take control over my own life.

I taught you to stay under my control.
You didn’t even need to be tamed.
But I did.
You surrendered and I calculated.
Each second, very aware that I’d leave. Very decided I would.
l didn’t want to but I knew there was no way I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t meet you where you were.
And I still can’t.
And I lament that.

— Crownless.

I want to slow dance with you.

I really do.

Pull you closer and hold your hand.

But only sometimes.

I’m not someone meant to stay.

I wasn’t made to stay.

I’ve always been rather fond of exits—

the little green signs,

the unlocked doors,

the comfort of knowing

I can leave whenever I want.

And then there’s people like you.

Sometimes,

you make me want to stay

just a tiny bit longer.

Not forever.

Don’t look at me like that.

I don’t think I could survive

something as permanent as forever.

But if I’m not too late,

would you mind giving me a minute?

Put your hand in mine.

Don’t ask where this is going.

Let the music decide.

Do my 3AM drunk calls disturb you?

Or do you, sometimes, secretly long for them?

Do you ever hear my name

and wonder if I’ll call?

I wonder if you know

how strange it is

to find someone

who makes leaving feel rude—

and that makes me care it does.

Someone who makes me forget

to look for the door.

Someone who can hold me

without making me feel held.

And maybe that’s all I want from you:

one song.

One stupid, beautiful song

long enough for me to forget

that I am always halfway gone.

Let me sway with you

until the room disappears.

Until there is no tomorrow

to ruin it with.

Until I stop wondering

whether this is a beginning

or merely a particularly convincing way

of saying goodbye.

And when the song ends—

please don’t ask me to stay.

You knew I’d leave.

You just made the mistake

of making me wish I wouldn’t.

— Crownless.

I want to slow dance with you.

I really do.

Pull you closer and hold your hand.

But only sometimes.

I’m not someone meant to stay.

I wasn’t made to stay.

I’ve always been rather fond of exits—

the little green signs,

the unlocked doors,

the comfort of knowing

I can leave whenever I want.

And then there’s people like you.

Sometimes,

you make me want to stay

just a tiny bit longer.

Not forever.

Don’t look at me like that.

I don’t think I could survive

something as permanent as forever.

But if I’m not too late,

would you mind giving me a minute?

Put your hand in mine.

Don’t ask where this is going.

Let the music decide.

Do my 3AM drunk calls disturb you?

Or do you, sometimes, secretly long for them?

Do you ever hear my name

and wonder if I’ll call?

I wonder if you know

how strange it is

to find someone

who makes leaving feel rude—

and who makes me care it does.

Someone who makes me forget

to look for the door.

Someone who can hold me

without making me feel held.

And maybe that’s all I want from you:

one song.

One stupid, beautiful song

long enough for me to forget

that I am always halfway gone.

Let me sway with you

until the room disappears.

Until there is no tomorrow

to ruin it with.

Until I stop wondering

whether this is a beginning

or merely a particularly convincing way

of saying goodbye.

And when the song ends—

please don’t ask me to stay.

You knew I’d leave.

You just made the mistake

of making me wish I wouldn’t.

— Crownless.

I want to slow dance with you.

I really do.

Pull you closer and hold your hand.

But only sometimes.

I’m not someone meant to stay.

I wasn’t made to stay.

I’ve always been rather fond of exits—

the little green signs,

the unlocked doors,

the comfort of knowing

I can leave whenever I want.

And then there’s people like you.

Sometimes,

you make me want to stay

just a tiny bit longer.

Not forever.

Don’t look at me like that.

I don’t think I could survive

something as permanent as forever.

But if I’m not too late,

would you mind giving me a minute?

Put your hand in mine.

Don’t ask where this is going.

Let the music decide.

Do my 3AM drunk calls disturb you?

Or do you, sometimes, secretly long for them?

Do you ever hear my name

and wonder if I’ll call?

I wonder if you know

how strange it is

to find someone

who makes leaving feel rude rude—

and who makes me care it does.

Someone who makes me forget

to look for the door.

Someone who can hold me

without making me feel held.

And maybe that’s all I want from you:

one song.

One stupid, beautiful song

long enough for me to forget

that I am always halfway gone.

Let me sway with you

until the room disappears.

Until there is no tomorrow

to ruin it with.

Until I stop wondering

whether this is a beginning

or merely a particularly convincing way

of saying goodbye.

And when the song ends—

please don’t ask me to stay.

You knew I’d leave.

You just made the mistake

of making me wish I wouldn’t.

— Crownless.

I want to slow dance with you.

I really do.

Pull you closer and hold your hand.

But only sometimes.

I’m not someone meant to stay.

I wasn’t made to stay.

I’ve always been rather fond of exits—

the little green signs,

the unlocked doors,

the comfort of knowing

I can leave whenever I want.

And then there’s people like you.

Sometimes,

you make me want to stay

just a tiny bit longer.

Not forever.

Don’t look at me like that.

I don’t think I could survive

something as permanent as forever.

But if I’m not too late,

would you mind giving me a minute?

Put your hand in mine.

Don’t ask where this is going.

Let the music decide.

Do my 3AM drunk calls disturb you?

Or do you, sometimes, secretly long for them?

Do you ever hear my name

and wonder if I’ll call?

I wonder if you know

how strange it is

to find someone

who makes leaving feel rude rude—

and who makes me care it does.

Someone who makes me forget

to look for the door.

Someone who can hold me

without making me feel held.

And maybe that’s all I want from you:

one song.

One stupid, beautiful song

long enough for me to forget

that I am always halfway gone.

Let me sway with you

until the room disappears.

Until there is no tomorrow

to ruin it with.

Until I stop wondering

whether this is a beginning

or merely a particularly convincing way

of saying goodbye.

And when the song ends—

please don’t ask me to stay.

You knew I’d leave.

You just made the mistake

of making me wish I wouldn’t.

— Crownless.

I want to slow dance with you.

I really do.

Pull you closer and hold your hand.

But only sometimes.

I’m not someone meant to stay.

I wasn’t made to stay.

I’ve always been rather fond of exits—

the little green signs,

the unlocked doors,

the comfort of knowing

I can leave whenever I want.

And then there’s people like you.

Sometimes,

you make me want to stay

just a tiny bit longer.

Not forever.

Don’t look at me like that.

I don’t think I could survive

something as permanent as forever.

But if I’m not too late,

would you mind giving me a minute?

Put your hand in mine.

Don’t ask where this is going.

Let the music decide.

Do my 3AM drunk calls disturb you?

Or do you, sometimes, secretly long for them?

Do you ever hear my name

and wonder if I’ll call?

I wonder if you know

how strange it is

to find someone

who makes leaving feel rude rude—

and who makes me care it does.

Someone who makes me forget

to look for the door.

Someone who can hold me

without making me feel held.

And maybe that’s all I want from you:

one song.

One stupid, beautiful song

long enough for me to forget

that I am always halfway gone.

Let me sway with you

until the room disappears.

Until there is no tomorrow

to ruin it with.

Until I stop wondering

whether this is a beginning

or merely a particularly convincing way

of saying goodbye.

And when the song ends—

please don’t ask me to stay.

You knew I’d leave.

You just made the mistake

of making me wish I wouldn’t.

— Crownless.

I want to slow dance with you.

I really do.

Pull you closer and hold your hand.

But only sometimes.

I’m not someone meant to stay.

I wasn’t made to stay.

I’ve always been rather fond of exits—

the little green signs,

the unlocked doors,

the comfort of knowing

I can leave whenever I want.

And then there’s people like you.

Sometimes,

you make me want to stay

just a tiny bit longer.

Not forever.

Don’t look at me like that.

I don’t think I could survive

something as permanent as forever.

But if I’m not too late,

would you mind giving me a minute?

Put your hand in mine.

Don’t ask where this is going.

Let the music decide.

Do my 3AM drunk calls disturb you?

Or do you, sometimes, secretly long for them?

Do you ever hear my name

and wonder if I’ll call?

I wonder if you know

how strange it is

to find someone

who makes leaving feel rude.

Someone who makes me forget

to look for the door.

Someone who can hold me

without making me feel held.

And maybe that’s all I want from you:

one song.

One stupid, beautiful song

long enough for me to forget

that I am always halfway gone.

Let me sway with you

until the room disappears.

Until there is no tomorrow

to ruin it with.

Until I stop wondering

whether this is a beginning

or merely a particularly convincing way

of saying goodbye.

And when the song ends—

please don’t ask me to stay.

You knew I’d leave.

You just made the mistake

of making me wish I wouldn’t.

— Crownless.

I want to slow dance with you.

I really do.

Pull you closer and hold your hand.

But only sometimes.

I’m not someone meant to stay.

I wasn’t made to stay.

I’ve always been rather fond of exits—

the little green signs,

the unlocked doors,

the comfort of knowing

I can leave whenever I want.

And then there’s people like you.

Sometimes,

you make me want to stay

just a tiny bit longer.

Not forever.

Don’t look at me like that.

I don’t think I could survive

something as permanent as forever.

But if I’m not too late,

would you mind giving me a minute?

Put your hand in mine.

Don’t ask where this is going.

Let the music decide.

Do my 3AM drunk calls disturb you?

Or do you, sometimes, secretly long for them?

Do you ever hear my name

and wonder if I’ll call?

I wonder if you know

how strange it is

to find someone

who makes leaving feel rude.

Someone who makes me forget

to look for the door.

Someone who can hold me

without making me feel held.

And maybe that’s all I want from you:

one song.

One stupid, beautiful song

long enough for me to forget

that I am always halfway gone.

Let me sway with you

until the room disappears.

Until there is no tomorrow

to ruin it with.

Until I stop wondering

whether this is a beginning

or merely a particularly convincing way

of saying goodbye.

And when the song ends—

please don’t ask me to stay.

You knew I’d leave.

You just made the mistake

of making me wish I wouldn’t.

— Crownless.

I want to slow dance with you.

I really do.

Pull you closer and hold your hand.

But only sometimes.

I’m not someone meant to stay.

I wasn’t made to stay.

I’ve always been rather fond of exits—

the little green signs,

the unlocked doors,

the comfort of knowing

I can leave whenever I want.

And then there’s people like you.

Sometimes,

you make me want to stay

just a tiny bit longer.

Not forever.

Don’t look at me like that.

I don’t think I could survive

something as permanent as forever.

But if I’m not too late,

would you mind giving me a minute?

Put your hand in mine.

Don’t ask where this is going.

Let the music decide.

Do my 3AM drunk calls disturb you?

Or do you, sometimes, secretly long for them?

Do you ever hear my name

and wonder if I’ll call?

I wonder if you know

how strange it is

to find someone

who makes leaving feel rude.

Someone who makes me forget

to look for the door.

Someone who can hold me

without making me feel held.

And maybe that’s all I want from you:

one song.

One stupid, beautiful song

long enough for me to forget

that I am always halfway gone.

Let me sway with you

until the room disappears.

Until there is no tomorrow

to ruin it with.

Until I stop wondering

whether this is a beginning

or merely a particularly convincing way

of saying goodbye.

And when the song ends—

please don’t ask me to stay.

You knew I’d leave.

You just made the mistake

of making me wish I wouldn’t.

— Crownless.

Dear diary,

I’ve come to despise Fridays.

Besides it being one of the days I have to get up earlier than my natural circadian rhythm—if it is I happen to have any lol—it takes away my morning and keeps me hostage for most of the day for the evening is packed back to back with classes and mentoring.

I’m also not fond of going back to work at the school twice a week… It takes up so much of my time and energy I could be spending on my art or personal projects as I were during July… But they need help, the money is welcome and it’s only twice a week… It’s a sacrifice I might be willing to keep up with for a little longer.

It’s saddening that by when late after strikes I’m already feeling like a zombie and my brain barely functions. And when it’s a Friday like this where I have most of my afternoon free not even then do I find rest for my mind is already in the future…

It’s saddening I foretelling was right: going back to work would strip me away from the grace of my Crownless universe… I spent 3 weeks without touching the novel project. Yes, partially because a scene was particularly difficult to face but also because I’m so drained and restless that even when I do have time and a little gas left I just can’t fully drown in it… I wish to find a way around it.

I wanna pick up notebooks again.

It’s Saturday tomorrow and I doubt I’m writing anything ‘cause energy is below zero but… I also wanna work around that.

Yeah, taking up the school offer is as draining as I had anticipated. Do I really need it? No. But I want to help and welp, a little extra money is welcome. I wonder if the costs really pay off, though…

Chin up, if you keep it at least till the end of the year it could be good—but even the thought of it makes me terrified. I definitely need to work around it.

And rethink.

‘Cause the tiny piece of peace I’d regained is slipping through my fingers again and by my own choice. Even though, yes, yet again I’m taking the load to please people.

Yeah. 26yo Crownless came to hate Fridays.

I can show you love.

Yes, I am able to.

I can also show you anger—

volatility, vengeance, unreliability.

But if I were to love you?

Oh babe, what a treacherous web you’d find yourself in.

I’d kill for you—probably.

Would you find that romantic or manic?

I can reason why you could go either way.

My romance is a little more exotic than what decorum has been trained to expect.

Careful, darling—

Who can say I wouldn’t wound you?

I miss it when I had the agency of offering such guarantees.

I don’t come with a warranty anymore.

You’re at your own risk; but I promise you: heaven will never have felt closer—

neither will hell.

I miss my impulsivity—because it was genuine.

It was childish, reckless and feverish.

It had the featherlight touch of an angel and the scorching pressure of a fallen one.

Hey honey, look me dead in the eye 

and tell me I don’t scare you.

Say you see the innocence you once did 

and not only darkness and dullness reminiscent.

Can you?

I don’t think you can.

And I don’t blame you.

‘Cause I’d rather say that neither do I.

Whatever has come up since has a price—but it’s a shield.

I’ll hurt you before you can hurt me.

I won’t bite but I’ll bark rough and loud enough just to scare you away.

I’ve once been called a puppy

who wants nothing but a safe place where I can lay my head and have you stroke my hair till all my demons are drowned out—for a moment.

“I want you to feel a hint of what I felt—or tenfold it. You hurt me and that’s your power over me. And it scares me.”

That’s my vengeance—and my pride.

Both also have cost me a lot 

but the satisfaction is inebriant.

I never minded being “the bad one”

but I hate I’ve lost control over my own narrative.

I used to put honesty above all else.

My moral was impeccable—

but what the hell has gone wrong?

When did I lose agency over myself?

A greater tragedy? I’ve never witnessed.

If you still want to know me, tell me:

What can I do for you? 

I’ll cover the ground in red roses just so you can step over each and every one of them.

I’ve been told I have excellence in making others feel like they’re the center of my world.

I’ll never leave you bored nor be bromidic.

I’ll make you feel like you’re the only one.

Part of it… won’t be deceiving.

Part of it… is cynical and selfish.

You’ll leave with psychological bruises.

You’ll also leave understanding what it is like to feel loved.

Is it a price you want to pay?

I can be charming.

I can be gentle.

I can sweep you off your feet.

But do you know what I cannot do?

Make it forever.

I can’t promise you it’ll last beyond tonight.

I can’t promise you I’ll be by your side.

I can’t promise you everything will be alright.

I might, though.

But—

if you ever come across this in time:

I ain’t worth yours…

nor your mental health.

— Crownless.

I can show you love.

Yes, I am able to.

I can also show you anger—

volatility, vengeance, unreliability.

But if I were to love you?

Oh babe, what a treacherous web you’d find yourself in.

I’d kill for you—probably.

Would you find that romantic or manic?

I can reason why you could go either way.

My romance is a little more exotic than what decorum has been trained to expect.

Careful, darling—

Who can say I wouldn’t wound you?

I miss it when I had the agency of offering such guarantees.

I don’t come with a warranty anymore.

You’re at your own risk; but I promise you: heaven will never have felt closer—

neither will hell.

I miss my impulsivity—because it was genuine.

It was childish, reckless and feverish.

It had the featherlight touch of an angel and the scorching pressure of a fallen one.

Hey honey, look me dead in the eye 

and tell me I don’t scare you.

Say you see the innocence you once did 

and not only darkness and dullness reminiscent.

Can you?

I don’t think you can.

And I don’t blame you.

‘Cause I’d rather say that neither do I.

Whatever has come up since has a price—but it’s a shield.

I’ll hurt you before you can hurt me.

I won’t bite but I’ll bark rough and loud enough just to scare you away.

I’ve once been called a puppy

who wants nothing but a safe place where I can lay my head and have you stroke my hair till all my demons are drowned out—for a moment.

“I want you to feel a hint of what I felt—or tenfold it. You hurt me and that’s your power over me. And it scares me.”

That’s my vengeance—and my pride.

Both also have cost me a lot 

but the satisfaction is inebriant.

I never minded being “the bad one”

but I hate I’ve lost control over my own narrative.

I used to put honesty above all else.

My moral was impeccable—

but what the hell has gone wrong?

When did I lose agency over myself?

A greater tragedy? I’ve never witnessed.

If you still want to know me, tell me:

What can I do for you? 

I’ll cover the ground in red roses just so you can step over each and every one of them.

I’ve been told I have excellence in making others feel like they’re the center of my world.

I’ll never leave you bored nor be bromidic.

I’ll make you feel like you’re the only one.

Part of it… won’t be deceiving.

Part of it… is cynical and selfish.

You’ll leave with psychological bruises.

You’ll also leave understanding what it is like to feel loved.

Is it a price you want to pay?

I can be charming.

I can be gentle.

I can sweep you off your feet.

But do you know what I cannot do?

Make it forever.

I can’t promise you it’ll last beyond tonight.

I can’t promise you I’ll be by your side.

I can’t promise you everything will be alright.

I might, though.

But—

if you ever come across this in time:

I ain’t worth yours…

nor your mental health.

— Crownless.

I can show you love.

Yes, I am able to.

I can also show you anger—

volatility, vengeance, unreliability.

But if I were to love you?

Oh babe, what a treacherous web you’d find yourself in.

I’d kill for you—probably.

Would you find that romantic or manic?

I can reason why you could go either way.

My romance is a little more exotic than what decorum has been trained to expect.

Careful, darling—

Who can say I wouldn’t wound you?

I miss it when I had the agency of offering such guarantees.

I don’t come with a warranty anymore.

You’re at your own risk; but I promise you: heaven will never have felt closer—

neither will hell.

I miss my impulsivity—because it was genuine.

It was childish, reckless and feverish.

It had the featherlight touch of an angel and the scorching pressure of a fallen one.

Hey honey, look me dead in the eye 

and tell me I don’t scare you.

Say you see the innocence you once did 

and not only darkness and dullness reminiscent.

Can you?

I don’t think you can.

And I don’t blame you.

‘Cause I’d rather say that neither do I.

Whatever has come up since has a price—but it’s a shield.

I’ll hurt you before you can hurt me.

I won’t bite but I’ll bark rough and loud enough just to scare you away.

I’ve once been called a puppy

who wants nothing but a safe place where I can lay my head and have you stroke my hair till all my demons are drowned out—for a moment.

“I want you to feel a hint of what I felt—or tenfold it. You hurt me and that’s your power over me. And it scares me.”

That’s my vengeance—and my pride.

Both also have cost me a lot 

but the satisfaction is inebriant.

I never minded being “the bad one”

but I hate I’ve lost control over my own narrative.

I used to put honesty above all else.

My moral was impeccable—

but what the hell has gone wrong?

When did I lose agency over myself?

A greater tragedy? I’ve never witnessed.

If you still want to know me, tell me:

What can I do for you? 

I’ll cover the ground in red roses just so you can step over each and every one of them.

I’ve been told I have excellence in making others feel like they’re the center of my world.

I’ll never leave you bored nor be bromidic.

I’ll make you feel like you’re the only one.

Part of it… won’t be deceiving.

Part of it… is cynical and selfish.

You’ll leave with psychological bruises.

You’ll also leave understanding what it is like to feel loved.

Is it a price you want to pay?

I can be charming.

I can be gentle.

I can sweep you off your feet.

But do you know what I cannot do?

Make it forever.

I can’t promise you it’ll last beyond tonight.

I can’t promise you I’ll be by your side.

I can’t promise you everything will be alright.

I might, though.

But—

if you ever come across this in time:

I ain’t worth yours…

nor your mental health.

— Crownless.