The ugly heart, discoloured and impure
Stays hidden, cloaked beneath a scarlet veil
Its hands reach out and grasp the physical
For without touch, its hunt will surely fail
Its crimson curtain ebbs and flows, a dress
With silken arms of woven moonlight skin
The beauty of the body, uncompared
To masque the rotting mass that lies within
The veil disguises all as vibrant red
But underneath the heart sits pallid grey
The chest from which it came now bears the scar
A gaping, bleeding hole on full display
The hands attempt to hide the vicious wound
And hold the veil to mimic something more
As insincere emotions flood the tongue
Of love’s true spineless, vapid carnivore
It prowls amongst the crowd of purer hearts
The scarlet gown it dons now drawing eyes
Its lips spout insincerities as truths
And fool the chaste to trust in its disguise
For when the innocent draw close
Its arms lash out and rip apart
The body, mind, and spirit of
The purest of the purest hearts
As covered in the blood the holy bled,
Is now the only way the heart turns red.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 3:39 PM UTC
Hello.
Forgive my intrusion,
I’m just here to offer advice.
There are so many options to choose from.
Decisions.
So many decisions.
You could never make them all yourself.
You think too hard,
Try too much,
And it's not your fault, but
You’re pathetic, really,
Thinking over every possibility
Of every possible outcome
While doing nothing at all
To change your circumstances
And deep down you know
I’m right.
The clock is ticking.
Sit back.
Relax.
Let instinct do the talking.
Let me make a couple decisions for you.
Spare you from the regret,
from the time.
You know you make mistakes,
No matter how hard you try.
So stop trying.
Give up control.
Consequences are only real if you accept them.
Was it even really your fault?
Apr 9
Apr 9, 2026 at 11:29 AM UTC
An entomological war crime,
Completely and utterly by design.
Its form, symmetric and aerodynamic,
A jet, dominating the sky,
Apathetic as it wages its war.
Its finish, iridescent and glaring,
A bullet, fired from the barrel of life,
Indiscriminate as it slaughters its prey.
Its methods, efficient and precise,
A computer, indifferent,
Uncaring as its genocides are enacted.
There exists no elegance in the eyes of the dragonfly.
There is only violence.
Yet we overlook this.
We see the beauty in the symmetry,
in the iridescence,
in the efficiency.
We hear the engines roar
And the bullets fire
And the genocides unfold
And we bask in the perceived allure
Of a machine,
Designed to ****
It is fascinating the extent of our interest into things
We vow never to become.
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 2:07 PM UTC
In Bugtown Bug Bob lived in boggy bliss,
Abhorrently he broke the Bugtown bridge.
How bitterly he blew Bug Wife a kiss,
And braced himself to bail off Bugtown Ridge.
All busy bugs in Bugtown were in trust
That Bugtown Bridge would last a billion nights,
But Bug Bob caused the Bugtown bridge to bust
And bugs now barked his name in fervent blight.
Beloved Bug Wife waited breathlessly
Believing Bug Bob would soon bound to her,
But Bug Bob never bounced back bonnily
His bug life bashed in one bereaving blur.
As Bug Bob fell, one last wish he compiled;
A better life for his unborn Bug Child.
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 12:14 PM UTC