a ring of dying stars, vacuous,
and detonating one by one; one desolation.
each breaks further down, chaining
multitudes in their death, and millions
upon millions of light-years away,
there stands you. with the same gleam
in your eye, turned to new meaning.
and a similar undercurrent of seething
anger, pressing to burst black and blaze and bold,
against the unclear boundaries of a void
you can't ignore. but in those remnants
is a reminder that beauty is eternal;
even when we know it's gone, someone,
somewhere will see it and know
it's irreplaceable.
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 1:32 AM UTC
i want you pressed against me,
holding the knife to my throat;
begging me to force it away,
lacerating my caramel with lust.
tongue in cheek and warped by sin,
spit swapped with mundane yearning,
fueled by layered hope and mourning
in moss-green hues and purple specks.
i fear for the future and the weight
of my own mistakes, and yet, i want to
blister and burgeon and cry out for more,
hopeful that your crisp sense of self,
your selfishness, might save me.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 2:01 AM UTC
save the platitudes
for the post-breakdown shower;
towel strewn on the floor,
steam suffocating common sense.
too little to soothe the hate.
stained glass reflects broken pieces
of our souls, a low hum
ascending to screaming
before bursting, limp.
color stands still,
where glass once was,
attempting to rebuild it
more vibrantly, in rebuke
of the damage it barely survived.
before anything else,
know it meant nothing,
means nothing.
arbitrary value assigned
by an unreliable narrator
who drafted this story
out of spite, boredom,
hope, and rage.
the ballpoint is sharpened
against me and threatens
to tear it all away,
like the stained glass,
like your bones.
like all of you.
maybe a poem will save you.
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 11:22 AM UTC
I'm sick and ******* tired
of scraping my pride
down to the bone,
asking for helping,
and hearing nothing.
my life has fallen apart
in three months
after years of beating back
against my tears and indecision.
those that want to, can't.
those that can don't want to.
the fire in my throat isn't half
as searing as the hatred i feel
for the South African tech genius,
searching for waste,
and the ones that failed us.
i carry this molten stress in me,
and i want the worst to happen
to those living their lives everyday
without worry about rent
or food or their car's
impending repossession.
this isn't even a poem anymore,
it's a cry for help.
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 1:52 AM UTC
handplucked, stared at, silence.
examined front-to-back, indifferent,
and dropped in a cylindrical hell
unlike any other you'd ever know.
subject, object, experiment.
a constant mire of hate, sin,
fear, death, lust. hate.
anything and everything adjacent
to violet highlights in calming sunsets,
a love for what can be despite what is.
inked by the growing bead in your chest
that pulsates when you dream of better,
more, the minimum. pure existence.
the bliss of firing off one round
of expression that might shift the world
and free you.
something you can't know
while others hold the jar and shake you.
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 11:21 PM UTC
loving is a singular
pain that sticks, caramel sugar
on skin. the sweetness,
a distraction later,
best enjoyed as wounds heal.
Dec 28, 2024
Dec 28, 2024 at 10:13 PM UTC
love in my throat, caught stuck, then swallowed--
dulled razor blades descend, hit my stomach,
and dissolve into honeyed drink that soothes me.
it is rough to start, as we may all know,
and eases itself into our core when we let the right one in.
and i did, without question. we may fight, sometimes,
about the silliest things, but that fire
is what heats my heart when i'm at my lowest.
she's beautiful beyond words, and sweet and cute and kind,
but never tell her that or she'll curse you with her evil
wizard magicks.
i love what she is and what she isn't--
patient (no), passionate (yes), and that she cares
about me in a way that invalidates my previous hurt.
i worry that i won't be good enough, that she'll find someone better
for her, or that i'll do something stupid to ruin it all.
but the essence i've consumed by living teaches me to improve,
compels me, not just for her sake but mine.
love is teaching me, warm honeyed drink in me, and i listen.
all that i can say after this is: thank you.
Sep 21, 2024
Sep 21, 2024 at 10:49 PM UTC
can i not bore into my temple
and remove the bitterest parts
of myself when they scream?
am i forced to witness their decaying
motions as they spoil and rot
every good thing I feel?
i say no, because i am worth more
than unspoken disdain, disgust,
unpleasantry.
fingertips to burdened lips,
I unsilence them and free the raindrop
words that ache to revive the good
behind the hurt.
paintbrush smattered in an ugly
hue of purely human creation,
no divinity in its intent, portrays
an image of a me that doesn't like me.
but it washes off in realization
that water is love is truth.
and that truth, beyond me
and in me, is good.
Jul 1, 2024
Jul 1, 2024 at 12:52 AM UTC
any sense of who i am or was or will be
dissolved in that caustic drink
i so willingly consume.
in it, reds, yellows, and blues morph
into filtered hues of black and grey, devoid
of anything resembling life. and I smile.
the diary in the corner, topped with dust,
wants more secrets to fill its pages
but I'm too tight-lipped to indulge.
Jun 16, 2024
Jun 16, 2024 at 7:39 PM UTC
all at once, and little by little, i fell in love. for the first time in my life, it didn't feel like something i needed to force or prove. it simply was. is. and thinking about her, us, the simple, the fun, and the delightfully mundane fills my heart to burst in a way that feels like a secure embrace and a soft kiss on my forehead. i love the sound of her voice, her long-winded stories, and her goofy laugh that betrays the surliness she'd sometimes feign to avoid feeling too much, too quickly. i am seen and heard and loved and valued, and it feels so effortless. never in my days did I imagine wanting to cheerlead and love and support someone so fully, to point it inward and treat myself the same. blues and greens and purples and pinks have never been brighter to me, saturated by the richness of each tender brush stroke in our ongoing tapestry. i love being in love and i love the woman that taught me how to eat the sun and let it go before the moon can miss it.
Mar 8, 2024
Mar 8, 2024 at 4:39 AM UTC