I loved the sky when it ran bare,
pure blue, no cloud, no end in sight—
a chosen quiet, just the air,
a solitude that felt like right.
The ocean too — that endless hue,
so vast it borders close on fear—
but peace and terror both run through
the quiet of just being here.
And midnight blue was something else,
a dark that swallowed all the light—
the kind of fear that slowly tells
you just how small you are at night.
A lucky star she claimed aloud,
the same one written under mine—
I heard it carry through the crowd
and felt my pulse outrun my stride.
Not even looking — wasn't planned—
a flash of blue I couldn't place,
the kind your heart will understand
before your mind can give it space.
Not sky — too warm. Not midnight's call.
A curiosity inside—
no word I had could hold it all,
my heart ran faster than my pride.
Time dropped its guard and ceased to turn,
each second pausing in its place—
as if the hours stayed to learn
the way the light fell on her face.
And when she wasn't there, time knew—
it stretched each second, thin and long—
as if the hours missed her too
and punished me for where she'd gone.
The sky has worn it like a crown,
the ocean claimed it as its own—
but watching her come walking down
I saw a blue I'd never known.
The sky is vast but has no face
to break its blue with something real—
she wears it with a human grace
that sky and sea can only steal.
She wears it with a living truth—
unmoved by all that shifts below—
and every secret of the blue,
she keeps it like she doesn't know.
That midnight dark, that swallowing space,
that blue so deep it had no floor—
she was the star I chose to chase
and darkness didn't scare me anymore.
And when I finally learned her name,
I knew the shade I'd searched so long—
that blue without a word became
the courage not to just belong.
It wasn't lonely anymore,
that vast expanse, that open hue—
I'd kept it without knowing, for
the moment blue would look like you.
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 9:17 PM UTC
Static hums in the pillow
then the groan of seams,
a wet thread snapping between ribs.
The wound’s slow syllable.
Sheets stiffen into shrouds,
crackling down the spine.
My pulse taps Morse:
"Which death wears its twin’s name?"
First the architect. Then the nail.
Gravity dissolves at the wrist.
The chandelier suspends its fall,
reassembling—each prism
a sob swallowed by its own light.
The banished return, trailing
burnt hair and tarnished silver.
The dead rise in their finest suits,
only to melt into origami.
Curator of almosts:
the kiss that drowned at the door,
the apology lodged in my windpipe.
Even remorse unwinds here,
plucking its feathers one by one.
Dawn presses its thumb
against the window.
I let it rot.
The truest country?
This room where the wallpaper
peels into a mouth of no one.
Sleep is not escape
just the needle’s eye
where memory pulls its thread.
Dare me to wake.
The night bends, but never breathes.
Jun 10, 2025
Jun 10, 2025 at 4:40 AM UTC
It rings again—that liquid shudder,
a drowned plea in the throat of night.
I know this tune. I’ve danced on its edges,
laughter sharpening the blade.
Through the peephole: a silhouette,
blurred by tears that won’t come.
My hand on the latch hesitates, then yields.
There, grinning with the face I buried last winter,
my loneliness offers white roses,
their stems weeping light
for the wedding that never was.
And yet—
You once rang like joy.
I memorized footsteps too light to stay.
Your heartbeat, a hammer;
mine, the ruins it shaped.
Your eyes—where my salt found its shore—
still pooling, still fresh.
The moon turns its black eye away.
I cry thunder; silence swallows the sound.
No one knocks. No one asks
why every ring becomes a funeral bell,
why every visitor wears my own ghost,
arms brimming with lilies—
while my hands beg for roses,
red as the wound you named,
red as the voice that echoes
when no one rings at all.
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 1:17 PM UTC
I veil the truth behind a calculated smile,
Knowing not every touch bridges the divide.
Some hands arrive with grace, tender and light,
While others leave shadows where trust takes flight.
I've learned to guard when candor brings pain,
My words once pure, now filtered through strain.
I mistook their wounds for love's deep disguise,
Their kindness—a precipice draped in lies.
They danced to rhythms etched on shattered bone,
Choreographing betrayal in each measured tone.
I traced their faltering steps with bleeding pride,
Mapping the terrain where connection died.
The melody I cherished—now fractured, wild—
Echoes of harmony brutally exiled.
My voice, once vibrant, now bleeds translucent white,
Drained of warmth by their relentless might.
I painted my face pristine as untouched snow,
A delicate illusion few would know.
Transparent as crystal, brittle and cold,
Where others bring warmth, I slowly unfold.
Vulnerability approaches—a razor's keen edge,
Threatening to shatter my carefully built hedge.
I retreat into silence, a landscape unnamed,
Where emotional boundaries remain unclaimed.
When fear eclipsed my wavering trust's last light,
I befriended the quiet that dwells in the night.
My soul—once a stranger—now whispers soft art,
Healing the fractures deep within my heart.
Gentle as breath, profound as midnight's embrace,
My soul murmurs wisdom beyond surface's trace:
Here are spirits waiting, raw and unbound and bright,
Where true connection breathes its most vulnerable might.
Mar 29, 2025
Mar 29, 2025 at 3:31 PM UTC
In my little world, you appeared in shades of blue,
A silhouette soft as morning's tender hue.
Beside me, your door—a whisper, untold,
Where curiosity and silence began to unfold.
Your room hummed with secrets beyond my reach,
Each passing moment a lesson love would teach.
I longed to knock, to breathe your name,
But fear held fast, a flickering flame.
What if your silence turned my heart to stone,
Where love’s soft whisper dies alone?
What if the courage I failed to show
Became the absence that haunts me so?
Time passed, and our doors became distant shores,
A hallway stretching to endless floors.
Each step a struggle, each breath a plea,
Yet hope burned on—a lantern in me.
I climbed through shadows of what might have been,
Not measured in steps, but the ache within.
The staircase rose beyond the light,
My heart ascending through endless night.
Behind that door, a world remained,
Of joys unspoken and sorrows unnamed.
I pressed my palm to the weathered grain,
Longing to know both love and pain.
When tears traced rivers behind your door,
I wished to knock, to heal you more.
When joy would whisper through thin-worn walls,
I wished to knock, to bring you flowers tall.
Through endless stairs, my hope still grew,
Clutching petals kissed with dew.
I stood before the dream we made,
And knocked—though hands still shook, afraid.
But fate unlatched that fragile frame,
Another's smile eclipsed my claim.
The flowers fell, their petals strewn,
A love unspoken, lost too soon.
I let go of the colors you once defined,
Falling like watercolor blurred by time.
Descending stairs where laughter stayed,
While silence whispered what I delayed.
Perhaps you left the door ajar,
Waiting for a touch that stayed afar.
My hesitation—a mountain tall,
Higher than the steps I dared to fall.
Now I know your name like a ghost knows its room,
You know only the fragrance of wilting blooms—
Petals scattered like moments we never claimed,
A story of connection, forever unnamed.
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 2:07 PM UTC
Bathed in moonlight's gentle caress,
Lost in the labyrinth, a maze of distress,
On life's twisted path, I falter,
Each step, a burden on my silent altar.
The cold breeze whispers secrets, "Shiver," it sighs,
Heavy limbs trudge through night's dark disguise,
Shadows cling with sorrow's icy embrace,
Ensnaring my spirit in this barren space.
In the distance, a flickering beacon I glimpse,
Its ethereal glow, a whisper urging me to wince.
Guided by its glow, a wary step I take,
Closer, my fears recede with each move I make.
A solitary firefly, sparking the garden of the night,
With twinkling radiance, it invites me to take flight,
Dancing through foliage, leading with its luminous dance,
Towards a hopeful morrow, where fears trance.
Through winding tunnels, where shadows twirl,
Deep within the cave, where mysteries swirl,
An exit blooms with lights so bright,
A golden aura, guiding to realms unseen in light.
To the exit, I find myself, enchanted with delight,
Amidst myriad fireflies, painting the dim night,
They sing with their soft luminescence, a celestial melody,
I join their harmony, feeling my spirit soar free.
In the garden of fireflies, where dreams softly trace,
A promised visit, seeking its own space.
Their ethereal dance inspires, a vow to keep,
To return to my garden, where wishes deeply sleep.
I extend my hand, they swarm, aglow on my palm,
A vow affirmed, in their tranquil charm,
Easing burdens, lifting weary limbs,
As we voyage towards dreams' uncharted whims.
Taking humanoid form, they whisper tenderly,
"Meet us again in your garden, where dreams roam free, endlessly,
Where wishes unfurl, and dreams bestow,
Together, we'll bathe it in our gentle glow."
In your garden of dreams.
The alarm softly stirs me from sleep's gentle hold,
Yet its beauty lingers, a beacon of hope untold.
Today feels different, as I rise from my bed,
With newfound friends and dreams ahead.
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 12:14 AM UTC
In a garden touched by morning's light,
Butterflies dance, a wondrous sight,
Each one precious, brave and free,
Bringing colors for all to see.
Some wings carry shadows past,
But their spirit shines to last,
Between roses and swaying trees,
They float upon the gentle breeze.
Watch them soar to touch the sky,
Each flutter shows their strength to fly,
Through storms they've found their way to peace,
Their beauty now shall never cease.
In this safe and sacred space,
They move with gentle, touching grace,
Every wing that dares to rise
Tells stories of sweet butterflies.
So let us guard this garden fair,
Where healing blooms in morning air,
For every butterfly should know
A safe place where their wings can grow.
Mar 25, 2025
Mar 25, 2025 at 6:32 PM UTC