at times, I see the cracks
the mirror casts on me,
at times, I'm left to wonder if
I'm really what it sees.
at times, I hear the whispers
crawling 'neath my skin,
climbing thoughts and monologues
trying to enter in
and at times it gets so deafening,
I can't hear what it says,
nor can I tell what I'm seeing, but
I think I see my face
growing in the reflection,
I hear the hissing wind,
I wish it could be different, but
the mirror cracks again.
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 2:22 AM UTC
Lover! Who I dream about,
Do you not find it strange?
That I can sing these songs of love,
When I know not your name!
Lover! Who I've yet to meet,
Do you, too, think of me?
When Fate calls our name—do heed,
it is but destiny!
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 11:48 AM UTC
Who could not love the gentle moments,
spent alone at the end of day.
Who could not love to be the children,
of time's ever fleeting grace?
Who could not love the hidden pieces,
of art, in every passing soul.
The makings of a poem, music,
that briefly puts their life on hold?
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 11:46 AM UTC
See! Now, see the love I have,
the tender care of mine;
that should you let inside your heart,
would have been yours for life!
Hear! Love, hear the words I speak,
through passings of our eyes;
seek in your mind, a sweet soft spot,
to let me join you by!
Taste! The velvet wine of love,
in fountains of my soul;
taste, and feel, now, that you'd wish
to be with me 'til old!
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 11:43 AM UTC
Lonely—a dandelion,
in fields of velvety rose.
Timid—it grew in silence,
and bloomed a flowering gold.
Lonely—the dandelion—
fits not amongst its friends.
Hard earn—though all it's petals,
will matter not, in end.
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 11:40 AM UTC
The mirror is a conduit —
through which exerts despair;
try not to look — dysmorphia
will show you what's not there.
And you'll be crawled up in your bed,
your skin will bleed as you dig them in;
it'll hurt — but it'll hurt less
than seeing what you've been.
The mirror is an architect —
the crafts of whom are lies.
You can't be who you're looking at,
no, that can't be right.
You've just got to peel it off —
this sick, disgusting skin;
then you'll be perfect — as you've wished,
as they have always been.
Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare.
It's fake. It's not true. It's always been there.
Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare.
You're spotless. It's perfect. Look away. Don't stare.
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 7:02 PM UTC
I should be very glad to live,
and glad to have been born.
But sadness has been with me since,
though that's not what I longed.
I should be very full of love,
and always green with joy.
But heaven knows my laughter has
not ever been my choice.
Nor has my life—nor has my breath,
nor has my bitter soul.
The choice was not mine to be birthed —
let me choose how I go.
Feb 25
Feb 25, 2026 at 6:02 PM UTC
I should not be envious,
I am well, after all.
Not one who's special, or in need,
there are who suffer more.
I should be glad of things I have,
they have it worse, for sure.
My sufferings are not to speak,
they all just suffer more.
My miseries are obsolete,
what do I know of pain?
I am selfish—a narcissist—
who should not speak, again.
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 11:19 AM UTC
The moon is dead, and the stars are crying,
the wind begins their funeral song.
Darkness feeds on souls of the sleeping,
as the night keeps living on.
The world is dead, and there's nothing
to live for, or to hope.
The world is dead, there's no use trying,
****** be the earth.
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 11:07 AM UTC
In a quiet night, I cast,
my gaze upon the lonely stars,
and sometimes wonder if I look
as lonely from afar.
For though they shine so brightly now,
I know, alone, they weep.
They are—like me—a lonely being,
who is not glad to live.
Jan 27
Jan 27, 2026 at 10:31 AM UTC