--- work in progress ---

this playlist has a mix of comprehensable and uncomprehensable monologues with ambient compositions. its primary goal is to make you think and reflect on yourself and your life. use the uneasyness and negativity that you may find in this introspective journey to get a grip on things you need to work on. 

put the playlist on shuffle for a unique experience everytime.

i wish you the best. take care of yourself.

introspective ambient - a thinking playlist

vibe

latest

Work and Worship

Temple

Start a Cult

Praise the Lamb

Seek Jesus Christ, He's the only one who can heal you and grant you eternal life.

STREAM

lost souls prayer

not recommended for listening if you have suicidal thoughts.

Download / Stream:
https://lnk.dmsmusic.co/forlornles_misery

misery

There’s a hollowness here, a void that stretches endlessly, where even my own voice feels foreign, swallowed by the howling winds of solitude. I find myself wandering through this frozen wasteland, a landscape of broken dreams and unspoken words. 

The demons wait for me here. They always do. Shadows given shape by regret and fear, their whispers blend with the storm. 
But what choice do I have but to face them? To let the storm rage on and try to hold my ground. I am tired, so tired, yet I walk forward, step by step, through the endless white, through the cold that bites at my resolve.

For now, I am alone with the snow, the silence, and the battle within. And though I long for an end to this frozen agony, I know the only way out is through.

a letter from the winter

I chose this solitude. Or perhaps it chose me—an unspoken pact made in silence, in the hollow hours where no voices linger but my own. Here, where the winds sing only to themselves and the sun strips away all illusion, I find clarity. Painful, sharp-edged clarity.

It is in this loneliness that I create. The silence carves space for thoughts too fragile for the noise of the world, and yet… this same silence gnaws at me, whispering truths I cannot unhear. For with every word, I feel more severed from the life I once knew, from the warmth of presence, the comfort of being, being seen.

There are moments, brief as the mirage, when I wonder if I have wandered too far. If this isolation, once a sanctuary, has become my exile. The same sun that reveals also burns. And so I wrestle with myself, torn between the freedom of this emptiness and the quiet terror of vanishing within it.

I do not regret the choice, though I ache beneath its weight. Perhaps some truths can only be unearthed in this desolation, where there is nothing left to distract from the echoes within. But I wonder—when my voice returns to the world, will anyone still be listening?

Or will I have become nothing but another ghost lost in the dunes? 

winter letters (#2)

There’s a strange weight to the truth when it arrives too late—like hearing the echo of a song long after the music has ended. It lingers, but it no longer belongs to you. I think that’s how it feels when people slip away.

You can’t reach back. You can’t unlive the silence. People fade, and you are left holding only the outline of what they once meant to you.

There’s a cruelty in how memory works. The faces blur first, the sound of their voice grows fainter. Yet the ache stays sharp. Regret doesn't scream—it whispers, persistent and low, reminding you of the moments you let slip through your fingers.

The times you could have shown up, could have spoken, could have been something more than a spectator in your own life.

And the worst part? The world moves on. The streets stay loud, the days keep passing, and you are the only one still haunted by the ghosts of what was left undone.

what was left (winter letters 3.1)

unfinished, figured I should upload something since it's been a while. finished version will replace this soon. Enjoy!

la ville qui dort

man overboard

something sings out there

shape of my fears

There is no horizon anymore.
Only a trembling blur where sky and earth dissolve into each other,
as if the world forgot how to separate itself.

The wind drags entire distances across my face,
grains of sand carving small, unimportant wounds into the skin,
the kind that never bleed but never truly heal.
I try to look ahead, but my eyes learn only to endure,
not to see.

The storm swallows direction.
There is no path, only movement,
and even that feels borrowed, uncertain,
as though every step could crumble beneath its own intention.

The sand reaches inside the breath,
inside the mouth,
inside the thoughts.
Tears do not fall here,
they are taken, absorbed, turned into more sand.
Soon even the act of crying becomes another way of disappearing.

I begin to feel less like a person and more like a figure sculpted by the storm,
shaped and unshaped at once,
a fragile outline barely holding together
while the wind negotiates what part of me deserves to remain.

If I fall, I will not break,
I will scatter.
Not with violence, but with inevitability.
A quiet erasure, grain by grain,
until there is nothing left to remember
where I once tried to stand.

my dune

real life

instagram.com/bienbienbienbienbien
https://open.spotify.com/artist/1Q1YaJhj7mePPO9K2xtsTi?si=s92hSYQpREO7phI6cW1nmQ

my dune

FTBN