I’d walk through fire if it burned like you.
I’d swallow poison if it tasted like you.
I’d slit my throat and apologize for bleeding on your shirt.
I’d grab a knife by the blade if you were the one holding the handle.
I’d let you hold the heart kept on my sleeve until you smother it.
But you tell me that you love me and to come back to bed.
Maybe it was all a nightmare.
2d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 6:58 PM UTC
I flicked my cigarette into the ashtray.
As I did, millions of things happened.
Babies were born, folks died.
War waged on.
Flags flew high.
My life is nothing to rave about, and neither are the millions of others.
Money flies out of the hands of the rich and into the hands of other rich.
We are sheep, and they are the shepherds.
We all will die.
But to die means to have once lived.
5d ago
May 29, 2026 at 7:00 PM UTC
The rich never speak badly about money because they have it all.
The poor say “money can’t buy happiness.”
That’s true; money can buy drugs, *** houses, and cars.
No matter how much *** you have or drugs, you’ll always come down.
Houses and cars aren’t alive; they can’t be.
You can’t buy love.
The poor are right, but they are also the fools.
They believe in happiness; they believe that if they just keep going for one more day, maybe they’ll be happy.
The rich are fools for believing they are rich.
No one is rich; after all, money isn’t real, and neither are they.
But if you have enough money, maybe just maybe, you can fool yourself into believing happiness is real.
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 10:33 PM UTC
I loved her with all my heart
Even though I knew she wasn’t real
steel and bolts can’t harbor love, not for me at least
She looked so beautiful in her body
Her parts were interchangeable but I never added nor subtracted from her beauty
She told me one night, before laying down “I’ll love forever you even if I can’t” it was a programed response like all of hers were but I didn’t care, after all I couldn’t live without her
Now her battery’s dying and I’m running on empty
Her dials are broken and buttons stuck
I’m human, but even I can’t respond with enough love to describe her
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 8:59 PM UTC
The smoker loves not the smoke but she loves the feeling
She feels like she’s being rebellious and I guess that’s essential at 15
She sneaks off to her friends to have a smoke and talk about lovers
But now she 25 with a habit she can’t kick
She’s still sneaking out to go smoke but not with her friend
She died a wile back
Maybe from smoking maybe from boys she cares not to find an answer
Now she sneaks off to get away from boys and get away from smoking
She still can’t sneak away from the embers of her first cigarette
Even if she lost her lighter
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 8:48 PM UTC
They say when you see a dead body it sticks with you for the rest of your life
I’ve never seen one
Well that’s a lie
Every morning I wake up and look in the mirror I see one
It’s not dead in the sense of lifeless
It’s hollow, there’s no bright contours like in the magazines
Lest there be any signs of life it hasn’t shown
But maybe my mothers a necromancer or maybe I’m still alive
That still won’t change the fact my bed feels like a pool of water and my life is concrete shoes
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 7:31 PM UTC
Everyone asks where I got my coat
The truth is you can’t buy this kind of coat
It’s seen my ups and downs
My first kiss
My 2am Waffle House runs wile I’m bawling my eyes out
It’s seen every cigarette I’ve smoked and every dumb idea that clearly wouldn’t work out
It won’t judge nor will it elate
It won’t love nor hate
But it will keep me warm on nights I can’t do it myself
And on nights I’m too exhausted to reiterate it will warp around me like the warm hug I crave so bad
You can’t buy stability but a nice coat is pretty **** close
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 5:38 PM UTC
The wick is lit casting small flickering shadows upon the glass sides
That grows in size upon the wall it stands before
The flame of the lighter goes dark
And the flame dims
As the wax melts below the flame it knows it’s once vivacious and angry flame is now low and dark
Soon the flame extinguishes into the wax being lost within what has once made it grow
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 7:54 PM UTC
There’s an unkindness of ravens perched atop the coffee shop we’d been to so many times
We used it as an escape but now the only thing to escape from is your shadow
They sing our song so out of key it’s hard to hear but it’s not hard to hear your voice in the back of my mind
It’s not the day we met but I still feel your hand in mine
I guess that’s called foreshadowing
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 7:03 PM UTC
People ask how I write poetry so well
They’ll never know the answer
They’ll never know why I write
They’ll never know my arms are blank pages that I fill with stanza after stanza, the pen has no ink as my arms are the ink
The ink flows out of me and onto the page filling footnotes and headlines, titles and spaces
I look every day for a reason to not end the poem
But truly no one asked me how I write so well, because truth is they’ve never seen a single line
No one has and no one will
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 6:50 PM UTC