valoce or healsluts method

infernus noooooooo

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ESDEEEEEEEEEE

John Chungus woke at half past ten,
Heart like a drum in a lion’s den.
“Too much thunder,” he softly sighed,
“Too much storm I keep inside.”

He packed a bag with tea and light,
A journal bound in linen white,
Left his phone upon the shelf,
Declared a truce with hurried self.

Through forests thick with buzzing fears,
Across the bridge of unpaid years,
He walked past whispers sharp and shrill
Toward a quieter, kinder hill.

He traded hurry in the square
For deeper breaths of meadow air,
Let deadlines drift like dandelion spore,
Knocked less often on worry’s door.

At dusk he found, by amber sky,
Low cortisol is not to buy—
It blooms where gentle hours belong,
In steady step and softened song.

So John Chungus, calm at last,
Made peace with future, present, past.

hey s1mple can u sign my profile