she plucks, she plucks at her hair,
strand by strand, a fragile theft-
a slow unraveling,
a soft dismembering of self.
each root sings a dirge,
a tiny funeral for what she cannot keep.

She cuts, she cuts, into her wrist,
a meticulous surgeon of her own undoing.
the blade hums red hymns,
and the skin parts like filling pages,
secrets written in her blood,
whispering scarlet truths no one bothers to read.

her soul, a cathedral gutted by fire,
its hollow ribs aching for hymns,
the sanctuary she never entered.
she craves her momma's love
like a starving fox craves the moon-
sharp-toothed, bitter, unreachable.

she cries, she cries,
a monsoon of broken rivers.
the sobs scissor the air,
chopping breaths into pieces
too small to sew,
too jagged to swallow.
she drowns in her own storm,
pulling at the loose threads
of forgiveness,
at the ghost of closure
that slips from her grasp,
vanishing into the darkness.

chopped breaths,
chopped hope,
chopped forgiveness,
chopped closure.

you (lit) a fire
inside my bones – soft (slow)
hands taught flame to breathe (to
grow) until
you ****** it dead

My Muse arises from his infinite sleep,
A whisper in the chasm where shadows creep.
In dream, I wander, blind and bare,
A child of silence, feeling air.

The trees, skeletal, shake their spines,
Releasing relics from hidden shrines—
Trinkets, tokens, sins of old,
Each frozen now in hues so cold.

Scarred and brittle, the silhouette breaks,
Bones through black, the body aches.
Yet dew, soft balm, on wounds does fall,
A salve for the soul—if anything at all.

His kiss is death; his promise, surrender,
A union cruel, both dark and tender.
But light unmasks what shadows veil;
The birdcage opens; the spirit sails.

The seed, though scattered, may still take root,
A fragile hope in a world of soot.
The strings now wail, the hymn is done,
A mother’s lullaby beneath the sun.

The mirror water, smooth and wide,
Reflects the soul I’ve set aside.
My hair, like tendrils, floats and trails;
The ripples grow, the weight unveils.

Pure, at last, the guilt does fade,
A shadow now where sorrow stayed.
Depression lingers—a faithful shade,
Guardian of all the vows unmade.

Don’t look back—his eyes are mine,
Vacant, lost, a shared design.
The ****** weeps her crimson thread,
A river carved through the still, the dead.

Smoke ascends where wars still rage,
A fog that blurs the infant page.
Unborn eyes accuse, demand,
Yet ghosts remain with stilled, grave hands.

I seek, I bleed, disciple torn,
Haunted by truths both sharp and worn.
The quiet watches, soft and grim;
No judgment passed, no prayer, no hymn.

You who hold the light
in the soft sigh of twilight
where shadows whisper secrets
and the world bends
like a delicate petal,
i find you—
a fleeting thought,
a spark of laughter
dancing on the edge of silence.

maybe the dead
stick to us,
like stars caught in the fabric
of our skin,
weighing heavily
yet beautifully,
a tapestry of what was,
embroidered with longing.

pinch me before I wake,
like an egg yolk I gasp,
swallowed whole by this moment,
the sweet ache of remembering.
lay me down
in the unkempt grass,
where wildflowers
stretch their arms
to the sky,
and the earth
breathes
in colors of dusk—
let us lose ourselves
in this gentle chaos,
where time is a wound
that heals,
and love
is the only truth.

you—
the one who catches
the dark,
who holds the light
in trembling hands,
remind me
that even in silence,
i am not alone,
that in the weight of shadows,
we are still
a little bit
alive.

Born of frost, in winter’s breath,
Her fate entwined with silent death.
A river ran in crimson streams,
Her mother’s wail, a fractured dream.

The forest claimed her as its own,
A shadowed child, lost, alone.
With foxes burrowing, berries sweet,
And shattered shells at small, bare feet.

Her world, a kingdom vast and wild,
A wraith she grew, the forest’s child.
Candles lit in pinecone glow,
Companions through the biting snow.

Yet love, the cruel and gracious thorn,
Pierced her heart, her soul forlorn.
Betrayed by promises, starlit lies,
A future lost in shadowed skies.

Veins of lapis, raven's beaks,
Mark her skin with wisdom’s streaks.
The moon, her mother, pulls the tide,
While stars like puppeteers preside.

Her hands, they grind the herbs of night,
Awaiting dreams that bring no light.
Ivy whispers beneath the frost,
The snow mutters of all she’s lost.

In the stillness of the winter’s hue,
A wraith remains, both old and new.
Her fate, her sorrow, her tale untold,
A heart of ash, a soul of cold.

touching down
on a field of golden ripe wheat stalks,
she—mother, sister, lover,
car crash.
she cut the ties clean,
drove off, left the old parade
of dead faces and long stares.
her mother, her father,
those barrel mouths
spitting bullets made of
you’ll never be enough.

the roots?
they never reached deep.
shallow soil,
rocks full of their anger,
their ultimatums killed their child
before the first breath.
all she had left
was what is happening?
over and over
until it became
a silent chant
in her dry mouth.

doubt grew in her
like weeds in cracked pavement,
pushing through the silence,
splitting her skin open—
but no one noticed.
no one cared.

now,
she’s gone from them,
driving with the headlights off
into the deep black of
what’s next.
they don’t even know it,
but she buried them
back in that wheat field.
their words,
their bullets,
their roots—
all rotting in the dirt.

I am the meek one, soft as milk,
The lamb in the dew’s first breath,
Trailing petals in a path to slaughter,
Eyes wide, heart blooming with trust.
The air whispers its secrets:
"Be still, be still,
Your blood will nourish the roots."

But beneath the quiet mask,
The dormant beast waits, claws coiled.
Her breath rattles in the dark of my lungs,
Her eyes gleam in mirrors I dare not meet.
She sharpens her teeth on the bones of silence,
A warrior clothed in shadow,
Bound to the pulse of her restless blade.

I walk the tightrope stretched between us,
Each step a hymn to fragile peace.
But the scales groan, the weight shifts—
Balance is a fickle mistress.
The lamb whispers, "Mercy,"
The beast roars, "War."
Their voices weave through my veins,
Twin rivers threatening to flood.

The line beckons, a seam stitched with fire,
Daring me to cross, daring me to break.
The lamb trembles at the precipice,
The warrior takes her hand.
It is not choice but inevitability—
A tide surging through the marrow of my bones.

I am both the hunter and the hunted,
The blade and the throat it kisses.
Change is a storm I cannot deny;
War is a dance I must learn to master.
The lamb bleeds, the beast awakens.
There is no balance, only fusion,
Only the becoming of something whole.

We the nobodies, shadows cut from the cloth of smoke and scars,
a fever of sweat and darkness pooling, tears of sorrow swallowing tomorrow.
They locked us in silence, mad minds forging new words, wild and sharp,
each syllable slipping from sanity’s grip, each sound a breath clawing free.

Everything slides in time, the tick-tock mocking us, echoes like footsteps
down the hallway of closed doors, promises that never open.
See you on the other side, they said, where death waits like a lover,
the kiss of a fist, sweet baby girl, sleep—don’t listen,
we’ll wait before sharing the truth, its teeth bare and grinning.

The mania whispers in dark corners, shakes the bones from rest,
and a thousand thoughts slice through, a razor storm beneath quiet skin.
Blood seeping down thick thighs, warmth trickling like proof—
still alive, still fertile with fear, birthing only dread.

He could never hear her, she screamed into an endless void,
her voice a smear, red stains across cold walls.
And no peace wrapped her, no quiet settled in,
only the whisper of madness, and the promise—
of a darker dawn to come.

Fingers trace her face,
water whispers soft goodbyes,
grief flows like the stream.

drifting (torrential) dreams—
loose as vagabonds,
their gentle hum (suspicions of
burning bridges),
the pinhole of today
collapses (like breath through
a cracked window).

(government listens
to birds
kiss
satellites goodnight;
their frequency is
a whalesong—
a wind heard
only in the hollow
of you/me/us).

we (trust) like branches
struggling
toward a reflection of
not-quite-sky.

make it (code) names transcendence.
make it seconds (resonating)—
a journey (intimate,
an interrogation) of
(expectations to
accept) the sound
we sing together.

Seeking shelter from the whispers’ breath,
The cross digs deep, her burdened path.
Her shoulders bow to grief untold,
Impregnated by hope grown cold.

Enemies masked in waltzing guise,
Spin circles beneath deceiving skies.
She bows graciously to his eminence tall,
A shadow looms, a silent call.

"Where are you from?" they question her so,
"From nowhere," she answers, a truth of woe.
"A ******* child, unwanted, unseen,
An echo of sorrow where life had been."

Candlelight flickers, betraying her years,
Its glow etching lines, language of tears.
Thoughts breach barriers, a storm in flight,
Black stallions pound through the veils of night.

He liked to play tricks, her torment, her plea,
A curse spun in pity, her shadow’s decree.
The ghost of him lingers, a sparrow’s ascent,
Her innocence pure, but her spirit bent.

Fading to madness, a lover’s embrace,
Embroidery patterns the fabric of grace.
The past weaves its threads, each stitch a scar,
A wraith’s pale flay in a world ajar.

No taste of codeine, no balm for the strife,
Defensive in virtue, her battle is life.
Through madness, through whispers, through sorrow’s long flight,
She vanishes softly into shadowed light.

Little child wanders,
wild forest whispers through the air,
Grandma stirs her ***.

Wrinkles tell her tale,
sentimental tears falling,
lonely nights persist.

Pregnant skies grow ripe,
radiant but angry clouds,
fist of thunder strikes.

The footsteps fall — then fade away —
As silence holds — the breath at bay —
Two hands — in quiet longing — meet,
A tremble — soft — and hearts entreat.

A fever burns — and must be still,
The world outside — they wish to **** —
The rain — it whispers — soft refrain,
Of stories lost — of fear and pain.

The elders' words — like serpents' hiss,
A promise sweet — a bitter kiss —
"Trust me, dear one — for I will save,
Your love — your life — from cruelest grave."

She calms the storm within her mind,
With *****'s balm — a solace blind —
His face is strange — his heart a lie —
But still — she dreams — where no one dies.

The flowers twine — within her hair,
She plays with children unaware —
Of all the rules — the bitter game,
Where whispers wear a nameless shame.

The demons smile — they will not harm,
They cleanse with beads — with prayer's calm charm —
"Forget your name, and curse the night,
The dawn will lift you into light."

But Death — a shadow — cold and near,
Sweeps in — and leaves no room for fear —
The dust — the warmth — no more to chase,
A fleeting dream — an empty place.

Wildflowers grasped in their hands,
Eyes expectant, waiting still—
Resplendent, she, in pearls and lace,
Crystals veiling iron will.

Upon a stallion, proud she gazed,
The cliffs below—waves, hungry, wild—
A dreamer young, her heart betrayed,
By guilt unpardoned, yet beguiled.

To marry love, the soul must pay,
An execution—hope undone.
Laudanum soothes the troubled night,
But daylight sees what grief has spun.

Rumors drift like soft exhale,
Tinkling laughter—shadows hide.
A sparrow leapt from trembling hands,
Defiant, boundless, unallied.

Death does not part, though life divides—
Choices, wounds that dare reveal.
Do we hurt to feel what’s real,
Or punish what we cannot heal?

Her fingers danced on shadowed skin,
Curtains swayed in darkness shared.
Together sought, together lost,
Unpredictable, love dared.

It is of no consequence, they said,
A black sheep wanders where none see.
Yet whispers linger, soft as waves—
A love alive, though never free.

Your tongue,
a blade that remembers
where I am softest,
where the scar tissue is thinnest.
You wield it without hesitation.

You ask for acceptance
as if I owe it
to the thing that has hollowed me out,
made me flinch at shadows,
left me raw and singing
with wounds I did not choose.

Sorrow has blackened the horizon.
The future—
a thing I used to believe in—
is now a quiet ache
that hums under my skin.

I flinch at your sarcasm.
It’s a whip,
a steady rhythm of harm
I cannot outrun.

And the problem you refuse to see—
it is breathing.
It is alive.
It soars above me like a black kite,
leaving me marked in ways
I can never explain.

I search for home
as though it’s a place that exists,
a place that will hold me
without splintering.

But you—
you crown yourself in their love
while their laughter
cuts you from behind.
Every sacrifice I make
is a ghost.

You hand them my offerings,
giving them weight they do not deserve.
And here I stand,
naked of hope,
bare of safety,
still whispering your name
like a prayer
to a god who doesn’t answer.

I’ve seen the future,

it looks a lot like this.

Your eyes, full of old fights

we never had, but should have.

We carry on, hands full of silence.

You're slipping, love, like sand through my hands,
Each word you fling cuts, each silence expands.
I’ve waited, I’ve warned, I’ve whispered my plea,
But this path you tread moves you farther from me.
Soon, I'll be gone—just a shadow you'll see.