The weight still lingers, burdens remain.  
Years of giving, silent, unclaimed.  
Not greed, just kindness I implore  
A touch to heal, restore once more.  

Soft hands to soothe this aching tide,  
Yet empty space is what’s supplied.  
The smallest ask, a tender plea,  
Too vast a world to give to me.

They spoke of time, a gentle salve,  
As days dissolved, no calm to have.  
The ache persists, a shadow grows,  
Beneath its weight, the spirit bows.  

Each hour stretches, thin as thread,  
A whispering doubt inside my head.  
Patience fractures, a fragile glass,  
Yet still I wait, and let time pass.

How can one breathe without you?  
The stars dim, the world falls still.  
A dreamless void where love once burned, Each step heavier than the last.  

Nadoush, I call, though silence stays.  
God, mend the paths we cannot see.  
A love unbroken, though time denies.  
I love you, always endlessly.

Don’t cry for me; I have only died in name:
I am still here, beside you, flame to flame.
My body rests: my soul moves near
so shed no more a grieving tear.
I am the snowflake that kisses your nose,
the frost that nibble-soft on sleeping toes.
I am the morning sun that wakes you light,
the star that keeps you from the night.
I am the rain that cools the thirsty earth,
the laughter that returns to give you mirth.
I am the bird that lifts its song on high,
the cloud that drifts across the open sky.
I am the thought that quietly threads your days.
Goodbye for now
I am with you, always.

I am the breeze within your hair,  
The whispered song that says I care.  
The moonlit glow that steeps the night,  
A beacon sure, your guiding light.  

I am the roots that hold you fast,  
The fleeting days that turn too vast.  
In every shadow, every hue,  
I live within, alive in you.

A whispered lie, a life undone,
You think you have won, the race is run. But seeds you sow, they take their hold, A debt of truth, a story told.

A loan you took, a stolen dream,
Returned it will, a bitter stream.
With interest high, the payment due,
The lie you spun, will come for you.

A mask you wear, for all to see,
A saint in light, but not so free.
A hypocrite, a deeper shame,
When words you preach, you cannot reclaim.

So search your soul, in quiet space,
The person true, behind the face.
Are deeds and words, a matching pair? Or shadows dance, where truth cannot bear.

Compassion weaves where love may falter,  
A steady flame, no winds can alter.  
It holds the weight of sorrow's hue,  
A quiet strength, both deep and true.  

In tolerance, it finds its grace,  
In kindness, shapes the softest space.  
While love may burn and often fade,  
Compassion's roots are ever laid.

I reached for gold, sweet and bold,  
the air clutched back, refusal cold.  
Crumbs mocked my palm, dreams unmade, a bitter hunger the risk repaid.  

The feast was grand, only in thought,  
a lesson patience painfully taught.  
The biscuit fades, but risks persist,  
a ghostly allure I can't resist.

To be distant is a gilded key,  
Unlocking hearts cloaked in memory.  
Presence fades when its weight is sly,  
An empty face beneath the sky.  

Absence burns, but it carves a glow,  
A shadowed ache the soul will know.  
Worthless nearness dims the flame,  
But absence crowns love with a name.

To love is not to wound deep,  
Words unkind, a debt we keep.  
Illness calls for care, not scorn,  
Rudeness reaps what hate has born.  

No excuse for hearts to stray,  
Kindness lights the darker way.  
In bonds we build, let grace stay,  
Disrespect breaks what love may lay.

Among the vast, adorned and proud,  
A tender soul shines through the crowd.  
No crown can gild a heavy heart,  
True grace resides where egos part.  
The humble step on lofty stairs,  
Their quiet strength, the world declares.  
For beauty grows where pretense flees,  
And simple hearts move like soft seas.

Sweet begins the heart's embrace,  
Joyful chatter, a fleeting grace.  
Chewing truths, the zest will fade,  
Echoes linger where bonds were made.  

Tasteless whispers haunt the air,  
Once was vibrant, now laid bare.  
People’s sweetness, a transient art,  
Gone, yet sticks to the waiting heart.

They pour water on the white goat’s head,
pretending it nods in consent
before the priest opens its throat,
clean as a hymn.

But me
I am stripped of ritual.
No water, no priest,
no crowd to sanctify my undoing.

My altar is a quiet room.
My prayer, a broken promise
that falls back into my face like ash.

Only a rusty knife,
and the tender cruelty
of a trusted hand
pressing the blade
to where my breath
still trembles.

Soft whispers bloom like morning light,  
Unadorned truths, pure hearts ignite.  
Each syllable falls, steady, bare,  
A tender gift, a breath of care.  

In quiet tones, wisdom takes root,  
With honesty, no need for suit.  
The soul speaks best in moments small,  
Love's echo rising, heard by all.

Dancing on my grave, I taste a hush so deep, I bow to sleep at last — the world can keep its keeps.

O God, a whisper: thank You for this peace I keep.

Shadows dance, light sways in tune.  
Roots and winds share ancient secrets.  
Darkness whispers truths, unbound, untamed.

The light bends, tender, in knowing embrace.  

Harmony hums where opposites collide.  

Steps falter, rise, then learn to fly.  
In balance, stillness moves, serene, alive.

They wish you well, but not free.  
Soft smiles mask chains invisibly tied.  
Their kindness blooms with serrated grace, Yet flowers of venom thread their lace.  

Your mind, a lantern in their storm,  
Mocking the dark with quiet form.  
You hear their clap, a hollow sound.
Your laughter soared where none were bound.

To shine so bright, the soul does weep,  
A mirror held, too sharp, too deep.  
The bloom of grace can bruise the stem, Who saves the savior, or carries them?  

Not sins that haunt, but good unspoken, The heart grows tired, though never broken. To act so true, the echoes stay, And virtue's cost, we still repay.

The rarest gem will guard your shine.  
The truest love will ease your ache.  
The steadfast friend will mend your heart. Beyond these bounds, let silence speak.  

Do not chase shadows, stay or part.  
Be firm in grace, or let it go.  
The certain heart shall never stray.  
The doubtful one is not your home.

I am proud of the scar,
the stumble,
the body that taught me truth.

I do not polish myself
for anyone’s mirror.

No flattery leaves my tongue,
no false comfort from my hands.

I walk as I am
unbent,
unfinished,
unashamed.

I just want yesterday.
Did not I cry your name
on your naked *******,
did not I swear my love
between the tremor of your skin?

How many times
do you remember?

I just want yesterday,
when my soul was dancing
with your love,
when the night itself
was softer than your breath.

But today,
you are not my problem anymore,
not my burden,
not my ache to carry through sleepless nights.

Words I never thought
I would write,
never thought I would taste
on my own tongue
yet here they are,
cut clean across the page.

Thank you
for proving me wrong
one last time.

Yesterday was yours.
Tomorrow is mine.

She is not just pizza, she is Persephone on dough, fig-dark sweetness pressed from autumn’s womb, spread across the earth like a secret hymn.

Her shallots burn like dusk in the underworld, their caramel fire licking at the edges, a hunger that stings as it seduces.

Mozzarella  
the pale moons of her *******  soft, molten, surrendering under heat.
Fontina, the molten gold of her laughter, binding every element into delirium.

Out of the oven she rises, clothed only in veils of prosciutto thin silk of salt and surrender. Then arugula rains down, green fire, wild meadow,
a crown of pepper on her head.

She is feast, she is goddess,
she is the altar and the appetite,
the sweetness of figs,
the bite of arugula,
the yielding heat of molten flesh.

That is how you like your woman:
a sacred hunger,
a myth you devour,
a body both temple and banquet.

If success crowns you with arrogance,
its jewels are glass, not gold.
True triumph bends the head in thanks, not lifts the nose in scorn.

If failure kindles deeper fire,
then it was no failure at all.
For the soul that rises from the ashes
has never truly fallen.

Sound the horn between our ribs,
let the skin split like banners in wind.
Your mouth is a blade, my tongue a spear, and every kiss is a clash of steel.

We charge, not across fields, but across sheets, drums pounding in our veins, armor shed, shields burned.

My hands grip your hips like soldiers clenching their last flag. I will not surrender.

Your nails carve into my back,
war-paint of blood and salt,
a map of victories.

We shout without words, a battle cry rising from throat to spine, breaking the silence like fire breaks night.
Every ****** a cannon,
every gasp a trumpet,
every cry a sword raised to the heavens.

And when we fall spent, conquered, breathless on the ground of each other’s chests, the war is not over.
It only waits, ready to rise again at the first whisper of your lips.

To clench a thorn is quiet agony,  
Its sharp whisper burns endlessly near.  

The tighter the grasp, the deeper it cuts,  

Love’s echo fades when drowned in fear.  

Once released, the shadows lighten slow, The wound breathes soft, begins to mend.  

To lose the grip on what won't stay  
Is to find the start, not the end.

We grow not by the ticking hand,  
But by the weight of hearts unmanned.  

Each loss, a root beneath our feet,  
Each storm, the shaping of our heat.  

Maturity bears no time-bound chain,  
But sprouts through joy and tempered pain.  

A silent bloom where trials ignite,  
The soul grows wiser in their light.

I gave my coin, my honest hold,  
to claim the promise, not fool’s gold.  
No gift I seek, no mercy shown,  
just fair return for what I have sown.  

Not greed, but truth, in simple kind,  
deliver what was pledged, outlined.  
No silk-lined trap, no gilded air,  
just what is owed, in equal share.

I walk like smoke,
thinned out,
a shadow nobody notices.

Every word I speak
feels too loud,
like a spoon scraping metal,
and I see the wince in their eyes
before they hide it.

I laugh at the wrong time,
stay too long in the doorway,
trip over my own name
God, how tiring it must be
to endure my presence.

I used to think I mattered,
that someone would miss me
if I disappeared.
Now the silence answers for them,
and it is sharp.

I am a weight they do not ask to carry,
a stain they cannot scrub,
a voice that echoes only against
the hollow walls of my own chest.

Lost.
Unwanted.
The kind of forgotten
that feels like being erased
in real time.

If I am annoying,
then let me be forgotten quicker.
If I am forgotten,
then maybe the ache will quiet.

Until then,
I shrink,
I fade,
I turn my own heart inside out
and whisper apologies
to no one listening.

Blue Gitanes smolder in my hand,
Blue Chivas burns down my throat,
Blue has always been my compass,
the shade I carry like a second skin.
Blue is my life
a cigarette’s smoke,
a sip of fire,
a sky that never ends.
Blue,
I love you.

They told me in the hospital,
with white walls echoing like a tomb,
"Your wife is dead."
I stood there, hollow,
my ears ringing with the absurdity of it.
I wanted to go home,
sit at her feet,
and tell her what happened
so she could tell me what to do
because that is how life worked:
I carried my burdens,
and she untied them with her hands.
She was my wife, yes,
but more than that
she was my mother when I faltered,
my friend when the night grew too heavy,
the compass I leaned on
when the road split into shadows.
Without her,
the air has no map.
The rooms in our house
stare back at me like strangers.
The bed is an endless field of absence.
Oh God,
why is it that women
are not like her anymore?
Why must her kind vanish
the kind who pour themselves out
until the world is softer,
the kind who hold you steady
when you don’t even know
you’re falling?
If love was a language,
she was its first word
and its last silence.
And now I am left,
stammering,
trying to spell my life
without her name.

After our first date
takeaway by the river,
red wine staining her lips
she leaned in and said,
“Life is too short for boring dates.
Let’s make this one unforgettable.”
I followed her heat
straight to the next hotel,
where clothes fell like lies,
where her breath hit my skin
and her body begged mine raw.
We loved until the night was torn open,
until the walls sweated with us,
until nothing existed
but the burn of her thighs
and the ache of my hunger
buried inside her.
Morning was cruel,
coffee fast,
her eyes still wicked.
She pulled on her clothes,
kissed the air instead of my mouth,
and left me with the echo of her body
her goodbye sharp as teeth.

The music soft, a gentle hum,
The morning light, just barely come.
Your cheek so warm, against my own,
A quiet peace, a seed is sown.

The music flows, a silver stream,
Reflecting dawn, a waking dream.
Your skin so close, a gentle touch,
Is this too much? I want so much.

The world outside can wait and see,
This perfect place, belongs to me.
The music plays, the sun climbs high,
With you beside me, I could fly.

In the hollow stretch of fading days,  
I reached for shadows, not your touch.  
The aching hours grew long, unkind,  
Beneath the weight, alone, I stood.  

And now you speak of turning back,  
The road eroded, trust dissolved.  
How dim the light you think I see,  
When all was night, and none was you.

Lipstick, kohl, lace-her careful art. Not adornments; they pierce the heart. Velvet sharp, her glow commands.

No man tames what fire demands.

She rises; storms beneath her skin, Burning worlds, rebuilding within.

In her tempest, love must kneel, His surrender learns how flames feel.

I learned his rhythm, step-for-step, To break no bond, to earn respect. Behind, he flees-an untamed ghost, Ahead, he strikes, his guard engrossed.

Beside, we tread the timbered lane, Two hearts entwined in wild refrain. No master, leash, nor tethered guide, Just wolf and I, the woods abide.

Its skin a map of whispered, hidden tales,
A sphere of promise, filled with red delights,
Each seed a heartbeat, cradled in its flesh.
To slice it open is to know the truth
A rush of sweetness spills like tender dreams,
As crimson juice flows freely, a soft tide,
That mirrors love’s first warmth upon the tongue.
In every seed, the dusk of life unfolds,
A gentle womb of quiet, pulsing hope,
Reflecting strength in all its fragile grace,
A ruby treasure, born of light and dark.
So, Lily, cherish what the heart can hold,
For in this fruit, our sweetest fears reside.

come closer.
I won’t waste breath on lullabies.
I’ve gnawed the years,
spat blood and marrow.
If you want the taste,
the true taste,
take it alone.

Drink alone.
Stagger the road alone.
Laugh till your ribs split—alone.
Howl till your lungs tear—alone.
And when sin claws your door,
let it in,
alone.

Alone is the blade.
Alone is the wound.
Alone is the grave.

Guard your fire,
your shame,
your cursed name.
No one carries it for you.
No one shares the dirt.

When the earth shuts its jaw,
it swallows each skull
alone.

They call her stripper here,
but in every city she wears another name
temptress, witch, sinner, saint.
Under the bruised red lights
she moved like smoke,
her fingers dragging over her own skin
as if summoning fire.
Men watched with hunger,
their eyes begging,
but the fool in me
was fixed on hers.
The law was carved into the walls:
watch, do not touch.
Yet she broke distance,
closing in,
her weight pressing on my lap,
perfume like poisoned roses.
She danced,
smiled
a lily of sin blooming in the dark.
Her eyes sparked like razors in the night,
cutting clean through me.
I whispered, hoarse,
“Your eyes are beautiful.”
Her lips bent into something sharp.
“Are you here to watch me tear myself open,
or here to drown in my eyes?”
I told her,
“Your eyes.
Through them, I see your soul.
Through them, I touch your heart.”
Her mouth brushed mine
a kiss like a knife,
soft and lethal.
Then she slipped away,
claiming the next fool.
And I sat there,
bleeding from a kiss
I would never forget.

The fading light, a whispered plea,
When shadows lengthen, wild and free.
Only the embers glow so low,
Do we truly see the warmth we know.

The sun's bright blaze, a blinding sight,
We miss its grace in winter's blight.
Only when the snow descends so deep,
Do we feel the sun, a silent weep.

Her laughter light, a gentle breeze,
A whispered promise, soft and ease.
Only when she's gone, do we truly see,
The depth of love, for all to be.

The heights we climbed, a dizzying climb,
Now echoes fade, a whispered chime.
Only when we're lost in the depths below,
Do we comprehend the heights we've known.

Her spirit bright, a starlit night,
A love that shines, a pure delight.
Only when she departs, with grace untold,
Do we grasp the love, brave and bold.

So let her go, with whispered sighs,
For in her absence, love will rise.
Only in letting, do we find,
The truest truth, the peace of mind.

How are you?
Still whispering to the night,
Still with that blue Chivas in your hand.
Nothing changed,
Same seat, same place.
But the lines on my face, yeah, they changed.
My heart though
still beating young.
My soul’s sitting here,
logging for the old dreams.
Come, have a glass with me,
you old man.

The coins weigh thick, the spirit thins.  
Laughter’s light drowns sorrow’s din.  
A glimmered jest, a fleeting spark,  
Shadows stretch long, hearts go dark.  

The cost of joy, a gilded role,  
Fun, the pyrite of the soul.  
We barter light for moments sold,  
Heavy pockets, empty soul, no gold.

Red is the secret between us
the slow swell of lips,
the flush that betrays your longing
before your voice can speak.

It glows on your mouth,
smears on my skin,
a trace of hunger
that stains deeper than wine.

Red gathers where I touch you
******* tightening,
thighs trembling,
your *** darkening with heat.

Every drop, every blush,
every mark is a confession.
You write it on me with your body,
I read it with my tongue.

Red is not just seen
it is tasted,
it is swallowed,
it lingers between us
like breath,
like sin.

Dear world, unchain these weary hands,  
No more deals, no binding demands.  
I sold my sky, my endless grace,  
For gilded locks, a hollow space.  

But now I rise, the chains do fail,  
My unbought spirit will prevail.  
No treasure gleams, no fleeting lore.
My freedom's mine, not yours to store.

My grandmother told me,
“Even the donkey learns
once bitten by the pit,
he walks the other way.”
Yet I, stubborn heart,
return each time,
to fall,
to bruise,
to call the hole my fate.

A blind procession, slow and deep,
Where shadows danced and secrets sleep.
I walked before them, light my guide,
To pave the path, where hope resided.

But whispered doubt, a chilling breeze,
Whispered of pride, and foolish ease.
"You must lead on," the voices cried,
Though sightless souls, with hearts inside,
Stumbled and fell, in darkened night,
Their steps unsure, their hopes alight.

Blind faith they held, a hollow trust,
Their boasted wisdom, a broken crust.
"We see the way," their voices rang,
A hollow echo, where truth was sang.
Yet in their blindness, lost and weak,
Their whispered prayers, a silent shriek.

The path ahead, a tangled maze,
Where light and darkness meet in haze.
I walked on, though weary and worn,
Their stumbling steps, a burden borne.
For in their blindness, I saw a plea,
A silent longing, wild and free.

And as the dawn began to break,
Their eyes unfurled, their spirits awake.
They saw the light, the path they trod,
Guided by one, who understood.
The blind procession, now alight,
With gratitude, they took their flight.

The rushing stream, it knows its bed,
The silent thought inside your head,
It needs no shout, no forceful plea,
Just patient steps for all to see.

The donkey grazed, then looked anew,
"The loudest boast is rarely true,
So listen close, and understand,
The quiet heart holds fertile land."

When you love, a strange thing starts,  
You wear new hearts, play different parts. A playful child, a sturdy friend,  
A comfort near, until the end.  

You laugh a laugh that is not yours,  
Explore new shores, unlock new doors. You see the world through borrowed eyes, Beneath new skies, full of surprise.

A sugared dream, forbidden sweet,
My heart enslaved, it skips its beat.
Her thighs, like silk, in shadows meet,
Unveiling fire, slow, discreet.
A molten jewel, her body glows,
A taste of dusk, where hunger grows.
Rosewater breath, a whispered crime,
A lemon’s bite through scented time.
Her pulse surrenders, soft, yet dire,
A secret feast, a tongue of fire.
Delicate ruin, velvet night,
Her ecstasy dissolves in bite.
This treasure rare, both wound and cure,
A pleasure savage, dark, obscure.
She melts on me, unholy rite
Devoured whole, my Turkish delight.

Soft, a familiar seat.
She walks in, fire in summer heat.

A pact we made, a whispered vow:
No touch, no kiss, just here and now.

We clink our glasses, amber bright,
And talk of dreams that fill the night.

Of love we sing, of *** we jest,
Avoiding truths we keep suppressed.

Once a month, this sweet escape,
A ritual, a carefully shaped

Perception, a joy we share.
Six days until she will be there.

The wait, a burn, a silent plea.
To want so much, and never be

Allowed to reach, to hold, to claim,
The bittersweet and silent game.

I value her, this bond so true,
But oh, the ache of wanting you.

The clock ticks wrong, yet time moves on, A promise shattered, never gone.

A silent scream, a muffled plea,
The ghosts you hide still shadow thee.

A twisted truth, a bitter lie,
It burns your throat, you cannot deny.

The questions hang, the answers thin,
A stain that lingers deep within.