ManiacalEscape - Hello Poetry

Tomorrow crouches at the foot of the bed, a sealed envelope breathing through its glue. I do not open it. I let it watch me sleep. The night has washed my thoughts to a thin, metallic quiet. Even the clock tiptoes, its hands careful not to bruise the dark. Morning will ask questions I have not rehearsed for- it always does- bright as a white room, smelling of answers. I dread the nights inspection, the way it lifts the sheet from every unfinished thing, every word I swallowed to keep the day polite. Today, at least, still belongs to shadow: a pocket where fear can fold itself small, where hope is not yet demanded like exact change. Tomorrow waits, patient and exacting, pushing its mirrors. I turn my face to the wall and practice being stone, heavy with all the things that have not yet happened.

0

Dec 26, 2025

Dec 26, 2025 at 5:19 PM UTC

Tomorrow

Tomorrow crouches at the foot of the bed, a sealed envelope breathing through its glue. I do not open it. I let it watch me sleep. The night has washed my thoughts to a thin, metallic quiet. Even the clock tiptoes, its hands careful not to bruise the dark. Morning will ask questions I have not rehearsed for- it always does- bright as a white room, smelling of answers. I dread the nights inspection, the way it lifts the sheet from every unfinished thing, every word I swallowed to keep the day polite. Today, at least, still belongs to shadow: a pocket where fear can fold itself small, where hope is not yet demanded like exact change. Tomorrow waits, patient and exacting, pushing its mirrors. I turn my face to the wall and practice being stone, heavy with all the things that have not yet happened.

28

There is a fire I carry - not born of warmth, but something scorched awake in the marrow when your voice first split the air. You taught me the chemistry of burning: how a single word can strike like a flint against the ribs, how a breath can become tinder, how a body can smoulder without ever making smoke. I learned to swallow heat, to keep the blaze contained- a quiet pyre stacked behind the sternum. Every memory hissed like a match dropped in oil, every silence flared with its own cruel oxygen. Some days the flames crack inward, eating the shape of who I was with a greedy, deliberate mouth. Other days they surge upward, molten, merciless, as if my pulse were nothing but bellows for the past. But there is a cleansing in the fire too- a way it burns the rot to ash, a way it strips the name of suffering down to a bright bare truth. I walk through the heat until the heat learns my name and no longer owns me. When I exhale now, sparks fall away- the remnants of old obedience, old fear, old shadows that once claimed the shape of my skin. I am not untouched I am not unscarred, but I rise from the cinders with a steadiness you never had- a body tempered, a mouth full of embers, a heart refusing to go out.

0

Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 8:46 AM UTC

Revenant flame

There is a fire I carry - not born of warmth, but something scorched awake in the marrow when your voice first split the air. You taught me the chemistry of burning: how a single word can strike like a flint against the ribs, how a breath can become tinder, how a body can smoulder without ever making smoke. I learned to swallow heat, to keep the blaze contained- a quiet pyre stacked behind the sternum. Every memory hissed like a match dropped in oil, every silence flared with its own cruel oxygen. Some days the flames crack inward, eating the shape of who I was with a greedy, deliberate mouth. Other days they surge upward, molten, merciless, as if my pulse were nothing but bellows for the past. But there is a cleansing in the fire too- a way it burns the rot to ash, a way it strips the name of suffering down to a bright bare truth. I walk through the heat until the heat learns my name and no longer owns me. When I exhale now, sparks fall away- the remnants of old obedience, old fear, old shadows that once claimed the shape of my skin. I am not untouched I am not unscarred, but I rise from the cinders with a steadiness you never had- a body tempered, a mouth full of embers, a heart refusing to go out.

46

Hate is the seed I never planted- yet here it blooms, obscene and towering, a night blooming wound splitting the soil of my chest. Its petals reek of iron and old apologies. I tell myself its weather, a passing storm lodged in the skull, but it has grown tendrils, creeping through the rafters of thought, wrapping each memory until it chokes. By afternoon it gnaws the light to ribbons. The air goes bruise dark; even the clock hands flinch. I drag myself from room to room like a corpse deciding where to lie. No one sees the black root twisting up my throat, the way it opens my voice like a hinge and speaks in me, through me, for me with that cold mother-tongue of ruin. At night it feeds- chewing the soft edges of hope, licking the bones clean until the hours rattle. I dream I cut it out I dream the soil of my body collapses and the thing with my name on it finally starves. But every morning it wakes first, slick and alive, pressing its shadow against mine - the only companion I can't bury.

0

Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 8:19 AM UTC

Roots

Hate is the seed I never planted- yet here it blooms, obscene and towering, a night blooming wound splitting the soil of my chest. Its petals reek of iron and old apologies. I tell myself its weather, a passing storm lodged in the skull, but it has grown tendrils, creeping through the rafters of thought, wrapping each memory until it chokes. By afternoon it gnaws the light to ribbons. The air goes bruise dark; even the clock hands flinch. I drag myself from room to room like a corpse deciding where to lie. No one sees the black root twisting up my throat, the way it opens my voice like a hinge and speaks in me, through me, for me with that cold mother-tongue of ruin. At night it feeds- chewing the soft edges of hope, licking the bones clean until the hours rattle. I dream I cut it out I dream the soil of my body collapses and the thing with my name on it finally starves. But every morning it wakes first, slick and alive, pressing its shadow against mine - the only companion I can't bury.

33

There is a storm in me that chews through the hours - a red, electric snarl that won't stay leashed. It claws up my spine, a creature made of all the things I never said aloud. It wants the world to burn clean, to strip the air of its pretending, to turn every soft lie into ash. I tear at the daylight just to feel its pulse stutter. The sky recoils - rightly so. Even the sunlight flinches when my thoughts flare hot enough to blister thier own shadows. Inside the self splits: one part begging for calm the other sharpened to a blade by years of swallowing what should have been screamed. And yet in the wreckage I call a twisted heartbeat, something stubborn rises - not hope, but a low bitter ember refusing to die. I stand in the ruins of myself, breathing hard, while the furious glow inside me leans forward, unblinking - a reminder that some storms do not pass; they learn your name and stay.

0

Dec 11, 2025

Dec 11, 2025 at 7:36 AM UTC

Hurricanes

There is a storm in me that chews through the hours - a red, electric snarl that won't stay leashed. It claws up my spine, a creature made of all the things I never said aloud. It wants the world to burn clean, to strip the air of its pretending, to turn every soft lie into ash. I tear at the daylight just to feel its pulse stutter. The sky recoils - rightly so. Even the sunlight flinches when my thoughts flare hot enough to blister thier own shadows. Inside the self splits: one part begging for calm the other sharpened to a blade by years of swallowing what should have been screamed. And yet in the wreckage I call a twisted heartbeat, something stubborn rises - not hope, but a low bitter ember refusing to die. I stand in the ruins of myself, breathing hard, while the furious glow inside me leans forward, unblinking - a reminder that some storms do not pass; they learn your name and stay.

36

The morning cracks like a porcelain egg, hairline fractures leaking light, I rise from the sheets - a small, determined ghost - and feel the day pin me to it's wheel. In the mirror, my face swims up, pale as a moth struggling from a chrysalis, wings still wet with whatever dream refused to let me go. Even my breath feels borrowed. Outside, the trees practice thier quiet violence, stripping themselves bare just to survive the cold. I envy thier certainty - the clean bone-deep knowledge of what must be shed. But the heart is an instrument . It clangs, it riots In the cathedral of my ribs Demanding fire, demanding release - a crimson, reckless hope that refuses to be reasoned with. So I carry it with me, this fragile insurgency , through the hours that loom like locked doors. And if the world won't open - I'll split myself instead. Let the light pour through the seems.

0

Dec 11, 2025

Dec 11, 2025 at 7:09 AM UTC

Mothman

The morning cracks like a porcelain egg, hairline fractures leaking light, I rise from the sheets - a small, determined ghost - and feel the day pin me to it's wheel. In the mirror, my face swims up, pale as a moth struggling from a chrysalis, wings still wet with whatever dream refused to let me go. Even my breath feels borrowed. Outside, the trees practice thier quiet violence, stripping themselves bare just to survive the cold. I envy thier certainty - the clean bone-deep knowledge of what must be shed. But the heart is an instrument . It clangs, it riots In the cathedral of my ribs Demanding fire, demanding release - a crimson, reckless hope that refuses to be reasoned with. So I carry it with me, this fragile insurgency , through the hours that loom like locked doors. And if the world won't open - I'll split myself instead. Let the light pour through the seems.

27

Fetal cries, Darkened skies, Mind withdrawn and numb. Shivering, jittering, Skin wet, glittering, Soaking on the floor. Endless day, Joyless pain, Fight it out, Battle on until tomorrow.

0

Nov 24, 2024

Nov 24, 2024 at 1:31 AM UTC

Chem trails.

Fetal cries, Darkened skies, Mind withdrawn and numb. Shivering, jittering, Skin wet, glittering, Soaking on the floor. Endless day, Joyless pain, Fight it out, Battle on until tomorrow.

10

As he stands on the precipice of the clear deep lake, He takes a moment. It's mirror sheen, unfathomably deep and dark, stares back. He adjusts his rose tinted goggles. The maelstrom behind swells, beckoning his return, to it's warm, and safe embrace. He steadies himself, and breathes in, allowing hope to fill his lungs. His first deep breath in such a long time. Closing his eyes, tight against unknown, he dives in.

0

Nov 23, 2024

Nov 23, 2024 at 1:27 AM UTC

New horizons

As he stands on the precipice of the clear deep lake, He takes a moment. It's mirror sheen, unfathomably deep and dark, stares back. He adjusts his rose tinted goggles. The maelstrom behind swells, beckoning his return, to it's warm, and safe embrace. He steadies himself, and breathes in, allowing hope to fill his lungs. His first deep breath in such a long time. Closing his eyes, tight against unknown, he dives in.

11

Into the vapid singularity, He's ****** forth, whole. The wasp fly's by, unfettered. She toils amongst the gravel. Blood eageled by her hollow gains. Timid, as time slips softly across her lips. Time slips around open wrists, that yearn for redemption. Tracing crosses in the sky. Hallowed, and hollowed. She contains her sick spells. Veridian green billboards with a vetitver scent. But red with wine and regret.

0

Sep 16, 2024

Sep 16, 2024 at 4:11 PM UTC

Victims.

Into the vapid singularity, He's ****** forth, whole. The wasp fly's by, unfettered. She toils amongst the gravel. Blood eageled by her hollow gains. Timid, as time slips softly across her lips. Time slips around open wrists, that yearn for redemption. Tracing crosses in the sky. Hallowed, and hollowed. She contains her sick spells. Veridian green billboards with a vetitver scent. But red with wine and regret.

12

Living on work, lines, **** liquor, Queen of wine. My kingdom beckons. Chic, glamour, shut in, slippers, Empty throne for a day, I reckon.

0

Sep 2, 2024

Sep 2, 2024 at 2:25 PM UTC

Party slave.