I know myself, I’m such a flammable thing:
A thing made not to blaze, but for surrendering
I do not burn, I am burned by design,
I keep to the cold, and fracture in shine
I know you, you are fire in the act:
You do not withstand heat, you are the impact
You do not erode, you do not tire
I am fuel that feeds you — you, the fire
You burn, I burn
You burn what you touch,
I burn when touched
Say, if I am coal and you are flame,
what laws would ever let us mean the same?
You grow by taking, I thin by staying
You name it warmth, I think it fraying
You burn, I burn
You burn what you touch,
I burn when touched
Mark how the fire delights on the coal’s retreats,
in countless losses, those that keep its heat
Yet coal thrives when the fire’s gone,
where the air lies still and the heat moves on
For see, I crave your absence, it lets me stay whole;
you crave my presence, yet it costs my soul
You burn, I burn
You burn what you touch,
I burn when touched
Pity me not, the coal in flame
I knew the terms, I still accepted this game
Pity the fire: bright, undone, alone;
For all it reaches for is overthrown
You will keep burning; I will turn to ash
We were never equal, only heat and what it asks
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 11:20 AM UTC
you plunged the blade through me; i did not cry,
i watched your hand, afraid the steel might bite
i feared for you before i feared to die
my chest lay torn, yet still my thoughts ran by
the tender skin your violence might indict
you plunged the blade through me; i did not cry
i could have shoved it free, the heavens know i tried,
but what if motion worsened your slight plight?
i feared for you before i feared to die
so motion stilled; i made of myself a lie,
to keep the metal fixed, the wound polite
you plunged the blade through me; i did not cry
i learned that silence is a form of why,
that peace can cost the body its own right
i feared for you before i feared to die
i held the knife where trembling ribs comply,
became its sheath, split open, kept you light
you plunged the blade through me; i did not cry
i feared for you before i feared to die
Jan 5
Jan 5, 2026 at 9:36 AM UTC
I seethe with blades beneath my skin, that’s how deep my hatred runs
yet my lips betray me with praise, masking the venom I carry
I could strangle you with the weight of my loathing
and in the same breath, I’d lace my tongue with honey
Pretending it was never poison I wished to feed you
Jan 5
Jan 5, 2026 at 9:21 AM UTC
They asked if I were Sun or Moon.
A light to blaze, or one to borrow;
To gild the morn or guard the noon,
To shine, or dream in silvery sorrow.
But I, soft-rooted, could not rise,
For mine are humbler, greener ties.
I am the Earth, slow-breathing sphere,
With veins of rivers, heart of loam;
Where seasons spin their fragile year,
And every creature builds a home.
I cradle dawn, I bury dusk,
And wear both sunlight and its husk.
The Sun may crown me, fierce and gold,
The Moon may haunt my sleeping seas;
Yet neither warmth nor wonder bold
Could make me less than roots and breeze.
For stars may rule the sky above
But I am soil, and grief, and love.
I bear the bloom, the ash, the thorn,
The poet’s field, the mourner’s tomb;
From every death, a seed is born,
From every night, a brighter bloom.
They ask again. What light am I?
I am the ground where lights may die.
Dec 7, 2025
Dec 7, 2025 at 4:16 PM UTC
O, mark the chasm wrought in mortal clay
Between the sunbound, bright as dawning day,
And we, the nightborne, children of the hush,
Who learn our steps beneath the evening’s blush
The sunbound call to one another… lo! their harmony!
But shadows cradle nightborne hearts;
’Tis echo, echo, echo
that keeps the nightborne company!
They cry, “Behold, for friction shapes the soul.”
And how oft that proverb takes its toll;
I heard it once, and still it haunts my breast,
A ghostly bell that grants no hour of rest
I see the sunbound gather… laughing, living, running free!
Their blood, their bond, their tender mirth
’Tis warmth, not echo,
that keeps the sunbound company
But my tender dawn, how lone it was.
I, firstling and dawn of our line, without a hand because
My father often fled to distances unseen,
My mother locked behind her somber screen
So when no sunbound voice came forth, no gentle plea,
I spoke unto myself, and learned
’Tis echo, echo, echo
must keep a nightborne company!
O nightborne heart, how strangely thou wast cast!
Half-shaped by yearning, half by seasons past;
While sunbound root in gardens soft and warm,
The nightborne sprout in quiet afterstorm.
And though I walked beside them, O! they never looked to me!
For light sees light, but shadows hide
And echo, faithful echo,
still keeps the nightborne company!
O fate! O form! O mournful symmetry!
What worlds divide the sunbound soul and me.
For they have hearth and brother-laughter’s grace
And I have only twilight for my place.
Yet in that dimness, something stirs, a fierce fidelity,
A truth the sunbound never learn:
O echo! echo! echo!
Forever keep the nightborne company.
Dec 7, 2025
Dec 7, 2025 at 4:15 PM UTC
From caverns deep the coal was wrenched,
its cradle split, its silence quenched.
The pick struck hard, the earth gave trust:
O chosen coal, thy crown is dust.
It dreamt of roots, of stone’s embrace,
the dark that held its ancient face.
But torn from womb to feed the flame:
O chosen coal, thou feed’st the flame.
It cracked, it bled, it split in two,
its marrow burned, its body slew.
The furnace drank with savage lust:
O chosen coal, thy crown is dust.
They praised the blaze, they sang its name,
yet knew not whom the fire maim.
The feast was death, the victim slain:
O chosen coal, thou feed’st the flame.
Now ash drifts cold where once it shone,
its voice erased, its labor gone.
Forgotten martyr, end unjust:
O chosen coal, thy crown is dust.
Dec 7, 2025
Dec 7, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
I think with my lies I could make the devil cry,
Make angels tear their wings apart midair,
Make oceans still, make stars deny the sky.
I could quiet thunder, teach the gods to lie,
Make sunlight dim as if ashamed to care.
I think with my lies I could make the devil cry.
I could unthread the seam where truth runs dry,
Make poets swallow words they used to swear,
Make oceans still, make stars deny the sky.
The saints would choke on prayers they sanctify,
And heaven close its gates to empty prayer.
I think with my lies I could make the devil cry.
I could make beauty doubt its own reply,
Make love forget the warmth it used to wear.
Make oceans still, make stars deny the sky.
You give me worship, and I pass you by.
Your faith becomes the wound we both must bear.
I think with my lies I could make the devil cry,
Make oceans still, make stars deny the sky.
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 4:18 PM UTC
The dark is dear unto me, its breath is still, wide,
A hush where the phantoms do glide.
There dwell the beasts, in caverned hush they keep,
Yet the shadows cradle me, and lull to sleep.
They veil the grotesque, veil what eyes might dread,
And draw a mourning curtain round my head.
O blessed gloom, thou kind and gentle friend,
That asks no truth, no broken soul to mend.
Yet see! The light with lances comes to strip.
It lays me bare with every golden whip.
No sin, no sorrow dares to hide its face
When morning’s blade unseams my secret place.
The sun, austere, doth cast my form in stone,
And shows me parts I thought were not my own.
A mirror cruel, this radiant blaze I flee,
For what it shows, I scarce believe is me.
Though light may warm, and verdant fields restore,
It floods the room where I kept shut the door.
And truth, though fine, may pierce with cruel delight
So let me rest, unseen, beneath the night.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 7:50 PM UTC
I was built like a bridge.
Not to be admired,
but to be walked upon,
to carry others over waters they feared to face.
They call it strength,
this stillness,
this groaning under weight without collapse.
But the rust knows better.
The bolts know better.
No one asks a bridge if it wants to be a boat.
To float, to drift,
to follow the current instead of bracing against it.
But I do. I dream of drift.
Still, I stretch myself across their storms,
a path for everyone but me.
Aug 29, 2025
Aug 29, 2025 at 11:06 PM UTC
You burn with pride, a blazing crown,
And cast your glory halfway down.
You offer me a borrowed gleam,
To wear your light, to live your dream.
They call it love, that golden gleam,
But I am tired of your dream.
For what is love if I must be
A paler shape that mimics thee?
You rise and all the world takes note;
They write you songs, they learn by rote.
But me? They only praise my face
When I am bathed in your embrace.
I’ve played that role, taking on your fire,
But I am no echo of your bold desire.
It’s this, I’d rather not be bright
If I must steal another’s light.
Let others ache to share your flame,
To chase your warmth, to speak your name,
But none of them see what is true:
That all I am is made from you.
So keep your gold. I’ll take the gray.
I want to dim, to drift, and to decay.
To be myself alone, though small and plain.
A hollow stone, without your chain.
Let planets spin around your throne,
But I would rather be unknown.
Do not shine for me, bright one.
I want no light that comes from sun.
Aug 29, 2025
Aug 29, 2025 at 11:01 PM UTC