π–šπ–“π–Œπ–”π–‰π–‘π–ž π–•π–—π–†π–žπ–Šπ–—π–˜

another casual, blood curdling surrealist nightmare

after falling asleep, airpods in -

listening to youtube subliminals

pinched myself awake eight times

i am twenty four years old and no longer dependent on antipsychotics

and yet i still struggle to know when something is real

or if a conversation was really had

i think god is punishing me for praying that i win the lottery before bed

𝖆 π–‘π–Žπ–˜π–™ 𝖔𝖋 π–™π–π–Žπ–“π–Œπ–˜ π–†π–˜ π–Ž 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑 π–†π–˜π–‘π–Šπ–Šπ–•

back of my late grandmother’s hands

every line on my forehead

i cannot stop frowning before bed

the botox appointment i need to make

the sound of the coke zero cracking and popping in the can next to me

sofia hΓΆfig is an irish poet in her twenties

a believer in the beauty of words
and that poetry can be anywhere - 

most likely in your private and inebriated thoughts
left sitting in the depths of your notes app, 

edited and rewritten a hundred times

Β© 2026 dream boy book club