Hook him up to the machine.
Shock his brain into
mediocrity.
Death stalks him;
he is aware.
There is too much
flash in his eyes.
His brain needs a reboot;
he needs to forget,
like a goldfish, like
a monkey in the zoo.
Hook him up to the machine.
He is too sentimental.
Salmon swim in his blood;
he has a paisley heart,
and a tie-dye soul.
He can smell colors.
Hook him up to the machine.
He has Van Gogh eyes, and
a Bukowski gut; he walks
like he's lost in a maze;
hunchback sadness,
butcher knife nerves,
Hook him up to the machine.
He believes in love,
and has too much trust.
His vivid green memory
is a curse, we need to
crash it, **** the eternal spring.
Hook him up to
the machine.

Where were these feelings of peace when
I was younger. Back when I overthought
everything and strove too hard for more
than merely enough.

I crave the hush of a world asleep,
Where shadows stretch and secrets keep.
To melt into the void so wide,
No ticking clocks, no tides to bide.

Beneath the moon’s cold silver eye,
I’d let the noisy moments die.
The breeze would kiss my weary skin,
And stir the stillness deep within.

A pen, a page, a heart laid bare—
Each thought a whisper in the air.
No roles to play, no masks to wear,
Just me, the night, the quiet stare.

Oh, to pause this spinning sphere,
To breathe in peace, to disappear.
Not forever—just a breath,
A stillness sweet enough to death.

How I crave that gentle cease—
A fleeting second carved from peace.

sunshine through the blinds
light almost 24/7
a strange time called Summer
-a long drawn out affair
further north than Moscow.

My ex used to say I was his little bird
I thought maybe because I was so small
And every morning I would sing sweet songs
As the sun peaked high through our window

In the evenings we'd sit beside the emptied bath
He'd say I was as cute as a baby white dove
Without knowing I instead began to mourn the life
I had before I held his disconnected love

An endless yearning had grown in my heart
To soar above the rooftops and tall trees
I had evidently become his effortless prey
Falling in love that young is so naïve

I believed I was that measly little bird
A hollow ***** victim crying over clipped wings
Another sacrifice to romanced circumstance
So I built a nest around regret and lost dignity

I used to hate being called his little baby bird
But he had convinced me that we were equal
Until I realized he was the frail white-winged dove
And he caged me because I was an eagle