I need to remember,
what mama said,
to live peacefully,
A cold peaceful breeze,
as good as I have the fan relieve.
I'll keep it on me, blowing,
As I continue to breathe.

I won't shiver under sheets.

No soft lullabies for this rage,
no bedtime tales for the scars.
Her rebellion, a waltz in combat boots,
spiked with grunge, venom, and a scream
that split the dawn like broken glass.
No lowering of voices—
it was them who whispered ******
while she carried the weight of silence,
their pills clutched in cold fists.

Madness was no surrender,
no white flag to psychiatrists
and their bottled truths.
She danced instead,
barefoot with demons that knew her name,
their laughter a dirge,
their touch as real as chains.

Words slithered into mirages—
truth, lies, all indistinct,
a love once pure now shadowed,
a muse now bound by sleepless nights
and post-traumatic hymns.
Our Lady of Sorrows bled for a flock
that prayed in her shadow,
kneeling in borrowed guilt.
But when she bled,
no one looked.

Plans drawn in whispered ink—
a razor’s edge,
a promise of release.
Love, a phantom now,
its face distorted with time,
matured, stretched thin by distance.
The scream of silence grew louder,
and demons conversed until the sun rose,
its light bruising the horizon.

She was no saint.
She forgave no trespasses.
But as the dawn burned anew,
there lingered a pulse,
a faint rhythm of hope—
love not redeemed,
but waiting,
coiled like a spring
for the next dance.

Stay warm and safe, the frost bites deep,
Clinically clean, your wounds won't weep.
Bare white thoughts, they echo purity,
But you're one of his, dying gently.

Generations bleed for a precious cause,
Love’s a little touch in a world with flaws.
Dreams drift like ash in the breath of life,
I've seen too much, yet remain the child.

Troubled lifetimes, reincarnations twist,
Honest goodbyes slip through the mist.
Chasing the truth with a golden dragon,
Nothing’s impossible—dive in, abandon.

From darkness I scream, reaching for the rock,
He stands firm as my reality shocks.
Unexpected surprise, you bear my pain,
I am nothing without you, insane refrain.

Bulletproof faith, I let it all out,
Dictator bloodline, my grandad's route.
Strong characters play chicken on the road,
Russian roulette, where raw honesty explodes.

Stay warm and safe, for the frost bites deep,
Bare your wounds, but no need to weep.
In chaos, in love, in blood-soaked rhyme,
We rise and fall, defying time.

Look into my eyes, a kaleidoscope of thoughts,
Fractured, refracting, endless.
So many choices, each a dagger’s tip,
Sharp, glinting in the shadow of paths untraveled.

They hurt the beast because they feared it—
A presence lingering like smoke in an empty room,
A whisper of what was always known.
The OD, quick and painless, invites us all,
A final door that clicks cleanly, slicing through the noise.

Why him, if you knew?
Knew the jeweled words would stab,
Their brilliance reflecting a hate that devoured.
Lonely strangers, relinquished and raw,
Digging holes with greedy hands,
Starving for connection, aching with regret.

She was different—
Too much, too close,
Her truth a mirror to the ghosts he denied.
She heard their whispers,
Too intense for his brittle comfort,
Her very being a revolting challenge.

Each second, a journey in shards.
She, finally accepted—by a psychopath—
No longer escaping the world’s biting sorrows.
Damaged children, raising damaged children,
Grasping for something whole,
Exploring the wounds like maps,
Each scar an unspoken truth.

His "I don’t love you anyway,"
A mourning, a death,
Memories strangled as he choked time from her lungs.
His cruel laugh, a vibration cutting through marrow.
But peace comes, soft and unstoppable,
A river of silent love,
Strong and masculine, like wild horses running untamed.

We don’t have a price.
Some define freedom in dreams; others in chains.
Yet the end waits for all—
Healing like a long exhale,
Forgiveness intimate, secret,
A kaleidoscope settled into stillness.

The drugs made his tongue slippery, a snake
shivering white powder, unashamed—
a quick snort from his hand, lips cracked,
peeling his smile back, his gaze drifts, blank
as walls of thick paint, deep hues curdling,
slicked, psychedelic strokes, in seizure.

A strobe cuts, slicing the crowd like a blade—
tighter they press, all touch, no tether;
hungry, he dives, a greedy kiss melting
in muscle spasms, eyes flickering, his soul
undone, unheroed, a heart pounding
its own violence, swollen and caught.

To be happy, just to feel, a blind wish,
eyes of trust, of terror, masked alike,
shackled in seconds of breath, each beat
drawing closer, riding ******’s cruel peak
under dark, tidal waves of night, colliding,
picking locks through consciousness.

Beads of sweat thread bad habits together,
strung like a rosary for sinners unredeemed;
we are the murderers of our soft selves,
our punishment twisting like smoke.
In his hand, the medicine man’s prophecy
dissolves, as music stirs a ghost of meaning,

a scatter of memories, vague, severed,
each doubt echoing our bodies, our homes—
this flesh a lie wrapped in pulse and touch.
Reality shock-shatters, a flat line stretching
until silence is all: the strobe dies
and he fades, release breaking him free.

The quiet underwater hum,
a lullaby of stars, a murmur—
universe breathing from its womb,
and we, small, ashen sparks, adrift,
a distant glimmer in the vast,
like sirens calling dreams awake.

She tasted ******'s slow dissolve,
a little calm beneath the tongue,
and hands that shook, still trembling words—
her fears laid bare in shaking lines,
as anxiety led her to cliff edges,
silent as the ocean’s pull.

She feels ancient, crumbling bone and sigh,
though he insists she’s still young,
but each high she chases, harder—
brown powder racing blood and heart,
the beat slipping, frantic, mad,
her gaze unraveling at the seams.

Past slips in, a nightmare child,
picking at scabs, laddered arms,
hair yanked as if by some twisted root.
And him—his weight, his need—she bends,
forgets as he pushes her close to oblivion,
as bruises bloom, a lover’s bloom.

With bite, with mark, she blooms and fades,
and finally sleeps, lips bleeding night.
Past cowers in the mirror’s face,
while demons swarm, clawing back.
The bitter pills she swallows whole,
their taste as old as ancient grief.

Beyond cracked glass, lace and shadow,
the old woman waits—her hand in Death’s.
Church bells toll the hour low,
as flames draw near and edges blur—
and in the dark, the moon hangs low,
her reawakening marked in ash and bone.