I close my eyes— sleep, awake, threshold, rupture, flight  
a door unhinges inside my mind,  
splitting wide to the infinite howl of the cosmos.  
The dark swallows me whole,  
Yet I walk silent through the nothing, a shadow without weight,  
stardust in my mouth, my veins glass rivers humming with echoes,  
feet bleeding across the abyss,  
through infinity, past the breath of collapsing stars.  
   
"Love!" I call, voice shattered into echoes.  
"Love, where are you?"  
"Do you not know my voice?"  
"Do you not recognize my face?"  
"Come to me—consume me—fill me whole"  
"Save me from myself!"  
"Fill me that I may feel again!"  
   
The silence trembles—quivers—writhes.  
A pause deep enough to drown in.  
The stars blink but do not speak.  
I stand waiting.  
Breathless. Ageless.  
Quietly searching for something real.  
   
I turn to the trees, the aching roots,  
falling leaves spiraling like forgotten names,  
the blossom of spring,  
petals folding inward, whispering secrets only the wind understands.  
I look to the distance  
the mountains, cracked open with time, bleeding slow rivers of silver.  
   
With great haste I ask,  
"Do you know love?" I beg you.  
"Tell me where?"  
"Show me the path so I may stumble and fall but find my way!"  
   
Nature smiles—a slow, knowing smile, carved in stone  
but does not answer.  
   
Desperate to feel again,  
I wade into the sea, let the salt carve into me.  
My heart drifts upon the waves,  
a fragile thing, a paper boat with torn sails.  
With a thunderous call to the horizon, I shout:  
"Waves, bring love to my door!" I beg you.  
   
But the waves only come and go, come and go, come and go  
dragging time in their hands, whispering riddles that dissolve before I can grasp them.  
Bearing sound  
but no word that falls upon my grace,  
leaving nothing but emptiness in the sand.  
   
The echoes of silence fall upon me once more.  
   
Night after night, I untether from my skin,  
leaving my body like an abandoned house,  
walking the plains of the universe,  
searching, calling, begging for something real.  
A ghost slipping between dimensions.  
A traveler in far-off lands.  
A lonely wanderer beneath the unblinking eye of eternity.  
   
I run through comets, wade through nebulae,  
stars burst behind my ribs,  
galaxies unravel beneath my fingertips.  
I stare into the cosmos,  
my hands cupped like a beggar’s bowl,  
aching, pleading  
empty,  
lost.  
   
Until one night—the universe listens.  
It hears my calls, my somber songs, my whispered prayers.  
It splits its sky-wide mouth and speaks,  
the words I've so longed to hear:  
"You seek love?"  
   
I look up at the heavens, at the endless sky.  
"I wish for nothing more!" I cry.  
"I want to be whole again!"  
   
And in an instant, I am home.  
Bare feet on the floor.  
Shaking hands on the **** of my bedroom door.  
Knowing where I am  
but not knowing why.  
   
"Open it," the voice says.  
   
I do.  
I run through, heart caving in, a million thoughts burning,  
only to find myself.  
Standing there.  
Alone.  
Staring back.  
   
"Is this a cruel joke?" I scream at the stars.  
"I'm right back where I started!"  
   
The universe laughs.  
Soft. Knowing. Unyielding. Endless.  
   
"Did you not ask to find love so you could feel whole once more?" it says.  
I reply in haste,  
"Indeed—but it's only me here! I search for love to complete me!"  
   
The universe laughs again—louder now, like rolling thunder.  
"If you wish to be whole," it whispers,  
"love yourself first."  
"No one will make you complete but you."  
"Love begins with one."  
"With 'I'—not with another."  
   
I wake, drenched in sweat, heart raw and open, confused,  
the universe’s voice still clawing my memories, drowning my thoughts.  
Enlightenment.
A truth.  
A lesson.  
A revelation.  
   
Wisdom
"Love yourself."  
"Be whole."  
"Then love will come."  
   
And I  
I sit in the quiet of my room,  
Alone.  
But not empty.  
   
Breathing in the lesson,  
like it is the first air I have ever known.  
The truth.  
The answer.  
The key.

My eyes drift the yonder of the colours after a rain, the sun shines through as thought compares love
to a
rainbow.

As if that was even possible

RED FIRST WOUND
Love begins like a wound unsealed
a **** of red across the sky,
wine spilled on white sheets,
lipstick bitten raw in the dark
it bleeds, it burns, it brands the soul.
Every whispered “I love you” tastes like copper,
tongues tangled in battle,
fingers tracing ribs like counting the cost,
a sunrise seething through storm clouds.

ORANGE FEVER DREAM
Love is heat, wildfire spreading
the citrus sting of desire peeled open,
the heatwave of hands that refuse to part,
persimmons soft and begging to be devoured.
Sunset drapes over shoulders like silk,
breathless, gasping, golden embers in a dying fire,
a hunger so bright it melts the spine,
a fever so high the body forgets its name,
collapsing into the glow of something holy.

YELLOW GUILT & GLORY
Love is bright, love is blinding
the glint of gold on trembling fingers,
a sunflower field drowning in its own sun.
The laugh like honey and waxed dripped over broken glass,
syrupy sweet tantalizing tastebuds but destined to crack.
Its comparable to sharp sting of jealousy, the fire of rage
the taste of lightning before the storm,
the smell of fresh cut grass,
a crown heavy with devotion,
a promise made in the shadow of doubt,
glistening in the distance.

GREEN DEVOUR & REGROW
Love is wild, overgrown and tangled
vines crawling through ribcages,
ivy winding around ankles, pulling you under.
The scent of rain on moss-covered skin,
the ache of a lover’s absence like abandoned roots.
It is the jealousy of spring for summer,
the slow, reluctant regrowth after ruin,
the murky depths of wanting too much,
an orchard of hands grasping for something forbidden.

BLUE DROWNING IN YOU
Love is deep, too deep, uncharted
the cold of a midnight confession,
saltwater tears licking the lips of the lost.
Oh can you taste it,
Fingertips pressing into the tide,
swallowed whole by the weight of longing.
Ocean rush past but what is left,
It is the hush of hands clenching the past,
A face that looks forward with eyes sewn to the back of one's head,
The needle ******,
the drowning gasp of “stay,”
the reflection of a face no longer your own,
the endless stretch of sky that will never be held.
As you left drowning in a storm cloud that lingers.

INDIGO HAUNTED & HOLY
Love is ink smeared across shaking pages,
Dripped between the margins of what we call self,
The confessor and the confessions,
a bruise dark and deep beneath the skin,
a candle flickering against the bones of a cathedral while angels sing a song that there are no words to,
It is poetry carved into collarbones, engraved and cut in deep,
shadows stretching long in the absence of light,
Can you see it ?
Can't you feel it ?
Can you touch the abyss?
a hymn hummed through clenched teeth.
The ghost of fingertips on a locked door,
The key lost forever yet you try to find it,
the question of whether love is prayer or possession, obsession
Never answered with reasonable thought,
a soul bound to another, bleeding violet,
Oh and how it's bleeds.

VIOLET DEATH & REBIRTH
Love is the last breath before surrender,
Gasping trying to lung grab each breath, life or death
the soft violet of a sky that has given up the sun.
Fields of flowers you will never walk within, smell or taste or touch,
only observe from a distance if you lucky
A funeral and a resurrection in the same whisper,
Life longs for laughters edge as you caress the nothing seeking something,
someone,
somehow,
petals crushed beneath careless footsteps,
Foot prints left,
Then erased, then followed
Into a space we no longer recognise
the taste of yesterday of dusk on parted lips.
Lick them and tell me what you really taste
It is the ache of knowing and the bliss of forgetting,
a name held on the tongue like an incantation,
Chant my name, chant for love
the promise that love never fades
only shifts, only shatters, only shines anew.

THE WHITE LIGHT, BLACK HOLE
Break it apart and it’s nothing but fractures,
bend it through glass and it becomes everything.
Love is a prism—raw,
burning, relentless.
Every shade, every wound, every wonder
spilled across the sky,
bleeding into
forever.
Love refracted is everything
Love broken is nothing.

Clock hits five—oh, look alive!
Time to chug, time to dive,
time to drink my last two neurons dead
and dance on the grave of the week I survived.

Boss said "grind," I said "blind,"
sold my soul for nickels and dimes,
but hey—it’s Friday, let’s pretend
that life’s not built on corporate crimes.

The club’s a zoo, the floor’s all glue,
the shots are fire, my liver’s *******,
but better that than sober doom
I’ll take a hangover over servitude.

So praise the Lord, or cash or fraud,
or alcohol or pain ignored,
'cause Monday’s death is Friday’s birth
one more week closer to the dirt.

The air is a buzz of quiet light,
like the hum of moth wings, soft against dark.
Electricity cracks open the sky,
a pulse running through veins of gold and blue,
flickering like the last breath of a fire
scattering sparks over the skin of the world.

In this moment, the earth shakes and breathes in crisp shadows,
while we are lost, dust in our veins, curling into the depths of  each other
a dark shadow of light, a flicker of stolen time,
the silence between us sharp as broken as jagged rocks that the surf washes against.
Here, we are not broken, we are not shattered , we are not destroyed
but bent like light through a light prism,
refracted into infinite pieces
we cannot hold.

Beneath the river's mouth,
the blue moon is a torch
its flames, a dull whisper to the sky.
Phosphors pulse, like ghosts still singing,
their song an echo between the stars
where the universe falls into itself
again and again.

And in the empty spaces between this world and the next,
I hear the wind carry whispers
of things I have yet to say
sweet against the ache of silence,
spinning through the dark like forgotten names
long lost to time’s hunger.

The light dies quietly,
but something of it remains
like the taste of honey on a tongue
that knows nothing but ash.

Time catches its breath,
waiting for the sky to remember
what it once was,
before it was just air and dust.
Before it was just a ghost,
walking the line between becoming
and nothing at all.
The air is a buzz of quiet light,
like the hum of moth wings, soft against dark.
Electricity cracks open the sky,
a pulse running through veins of gold and blue,
flickering like the last breath of a fire
scattering sparks over the skin of the world.

In this moment, the earth shakes and breathes in crisp shadows,
while we are lost, dust in our veins, curling into the depths of  each other
a dark shadow of light, a flicker of stolen time,
the silence between us sharp as broken as jagged rocks that the surf washes against.
Here, we are not broken, we are not shattered , we are not destroyed
but bent like light through a light prism,
refracted into infinite pieces
we cannot hold.

Beneath the river's mouth,
the blue moon is a torch
its flames, a dull whisper to the sky.
Phosphors pulse, like ghosts still singing,
their song an echo between the stars
where the universe falls into itself
again and again.

And in the empty spaces between this world and the next,
I hear the wind carry whispers
of things I have yet to say
sweet against the ache of silence,
spinning through the dark like forgotten names
long lost to time’s hunger.

The light dies quietly,
but something of it remains
like the taste of honey on a tongue
that knows nothing but ash.

Time catches its breath,
waiting for the sky to remember
what it once was,
before it was just air and dust.
Before it was just a ghost,
walking the line between becoming
and nothing at all.