SahSomewhere in mars

@sahsomewhereinmars.bsky.social

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Well Sah is Somewhere in Mars Im not on x/tiktok/Facebook/

Man contemplating whilst facing sun warm sun,in luscious green field wearing his official office uniform
Older woman getting botox
A love letter written to:
Woman with wedding ring on wedding finger being put on by man at wedding
Morning cup of coffee
Its a new day Maybe I'll fall Maybe I'll fly the answer lies After the try don't say goodbye Failure doesn't make success die So don't be afraid to fail or fly or try Today
Beautiful vacation picture
The Bathroom Mirror Conversation: Craftfully, I remind myself I am in no need of Your foolish affection, Your pointless attention, Because I see your intention Is to master my protection In order to display your projection And satisfy your erection.
Rotten fruit on plate
“The Green Friend” explores a covertly attached, almost addictive relationship with money. The speaker distances themselves by calling it “it,” yet deeply believes they alone deserve to possess this elusive force that belongs to the world and beyond. By SahSomewhereinMars
"Mr Blacksmith" is a poem about a man trapped in the relentless cycle of capitalist labor. He works so endlessly that he becomes numb to both his own worth and the beauty of the world around him. Survival consumes him, leaving no room for reflection, rest, or joy.
This poem explores the guilt of leaving a friend and a dark place behind. It’s about choosing to heal, even when it means losing what felt like home. Getting better is hard, and sometimes it means leaving people/home behind.
This poem is a raw realization that manifestation without action is delusion—told through the angered voice of someone who learns the hard truth.
1.caption over his head says whose gonna say it first? 2.doodle drawing of a person laid down in a pool of their tears 3.their facial expression is dissociated despite the continual flow of tears 4.over their head is a speech bubble inclining someone is texting
I'm just a lifetime loser An overachieving, under receiver, A societal outcast. "Why do I smile?" you ask. "Why not?" I glance. If the world will not show affection to my efforts, Does that mean I don't deserve to breathe? To live freely? If I am destined for ever-ending labour Met with unmovable failure, I might as well be my own saviour— My creator of happiness. I cannot escape this. Reality destroyed my bliss, Pissed on me and then gave me a kiss. How lovely, how warm, Expecting me to comply After you have Worn me out— Gave me a hug whilst gutting my back out. I'm tired, No energy to shout. So let me be. Just because you see my skin Doesn't mean you could be me. Leave me With your empty stares that look— But can't see me. No, you don't feel me. Leave me. And if you can't, Let me be me.
I don't think you love me. I don't think you see me. I don't think you wanna hold me. I don't think you need me. I don't think you love me. I don't think you see me. You say my touch is holy, But that's because you are needy. I don't think you love me. I don't think you see me. If I was never your her, Then who was she? Who is she? I am a ghost. The figure who haunts you— A distant figure in your heart. One you want to be real. One you want to be true. But you never wanted me. You just needed you. So with every person you ever saw, You projected whomever you knew. But I don’t think you love me. I don’t think you do. I don’t think you see me. And it’s cool. We’re cool. Love is cool.