DARK BREAKCORE

GORE-TEX COVERS MY SOUL[myouçeej Remix]

✰Spotify✰
https://open.spotify.com/track/6xOhmYN6geb3MhdqD59ZCz?si=c4fcdcd805e649ec

Iwakura x Death0k - Meaningless

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https://link.wetherr.art/mleotw
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'MY LITTLE END OF THE WORLD' is a concept album that delves into an alternate reality, a dystopian universe where the very essence of art has been lost to time. In this world, art no longer carries meaning; it has become a hollow shell, a disenchanted fusion of once-beautiful things. The colors are faded, the melodies muted, and the words have lost their depth. What was once alive with creativity, sincerity, and emotion is now but a hollow echo of itself.

The story unfolds from the perspective of an artist—an individual caught within this crumbling reality—who looks back on a time when art was alive, when it resonated with the soul and could transcend the mundane. The artist is trapped in a world where creation has turned to mere imitation, where the purity of inspiration has been smothered by a mechanical, lifeless approach to creation. The artist’s memories are all they have left—visions of times spent with the Fallen Angels, beings who once personified the core values of creativity, sincerity, and emotion.

The Fallen Angels are no longer with them. They have disappeared, lost in the bleakness of this world that has forgotten how to feel. The artist’s journey is a search for them, a longing to reconnect with the emotions, the authenticity, and the deep well of creativity that once shaped their art. As they navigate this world of artistic decay, the artist reflects on the profound relationship they once shared with these ethereal beings—the angels that sparked their muse and allowed them to express what was previously inexpressible.

searching for eternity

am i not enough?

https://linktr.ee/hikotakaeru
https://hikota.bandcamp.com/album/24-24

empathy

awake

二月の兵隊 (Harumi Edit)

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https://link.wetherr.art/wasting-away

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can't understand

moodvoid

WASTING AWAY

wasting away

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https://link.wetherr.art/one

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I REGRET

void surfer

The airport felt endless, with ceilings so high they disappeared into clouds of light. I didn’t remember buying a ticket, yet here I was, suitcase in hand and passport trembling between my fingers. My name echoed faintly over the loudspeakers, as if the world itself was calling me forward.

Outside the windows, planes rose like silver birds into a dawn that looked too clean to be real. My chest tightened with both fear and wonder. I wasn’t running from anything, but I wasn’t entirely sure what I was heading toward either.

When they called my flight, something inside me whispered that this was it, the beginning of something that would never let me go back to who I was. My steps were slow but steady, the carpet humming beneath my shoes, the air heavy with the scent of coffee, jet fuel, and departure.

The plane was small, almost fragile, like it had been stitched together from old dreams. I found my seat beside the window. The clouds outside drifted lazily, like ghosts waiting for permission to move. The seatbelt clicked, the engine stirred, and suddenly gravity loosened its grip.

As the ground fell away, my fear rose to meet it. Cities turned to patterns, rivers to threads, the world to a soft blur of distance. My palms were cold. Yet through the fear, there was a pulse, an ache of excitement, like the first breath before a confession.

I watched the horizon curve and realized I was flying not just to another country, but away from the version of myself I no longer needed to be. Each mile in the sky felt like a page turning. The air shimmered with everything I hadn’t said, hadn’t dared to dream.

At some point, I closed my eyes. In the dark behind them, I saw moments of my old life, the walls I’d built, the faces I’d left behind, the quiet longing that had always whispered that there must be more. Then, slowly, that voice turned into something clearer: there is.

When the plane began to descend, the light shifted. The new land below was painted gold by the setting sun, strange and alive, waiting. My fear didn’t vanish, but it softened, melting into something almost holy. The engines roared, the wheels touched the unknown, and for the first time in a long while, I smiled.

It didn’t matter what awaited me beyond the gate. What mattered was that I’d left the shore of my old life behind, that I had dared to take flight, trembling wings and all.

Beginnings are rarely comfortable. They are terrifying, beautiful leaps into skies we’ve never seen, and that’s what makes them real.

genuinely sorry

- https://open.spotify.com/track/54MKtcEp0H9IHJa9KVYdAb?si=906ed99ea81c44d8

almiire:
- https://linktr.ee/almiire

I REGRET

wetherr

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