A thousand words
Would still fall short—
For the war in you
Is wordless fire.

But even in this noise,
Your soul is whispering:
“Peace… please, peace.”

You’re not asking for perfection.
You’re not demanding answers.
You just want stillness—
A quiet that says:
"I know He’s here."

And beloved,
That’s not weakness.
That’s wisdom.

That’s worship
In the middle of weeping.

You make me sad
Helpless and weak
i wont stand up to you to, even speak
So i write it

You make me mad
make me wanna go back to 5
Scream and kick and yell and cry

Why don’t you listen? I was too weak to speak so i pulled you near, pulled you by your hair down to my level because i needed you to hear me whisper

That i'm so alone
Im so mad
At you

You make me cry, you leave me bruised.
Bruises that don’t go away
I try to wipe them away
I try to write, think, cry, apologize
But they stay

Part of me feels guilty, part of me takes the blame
This is all in my head, i’m playing a game

Part of me is screaming still, from the time i was 5
But not for your attention, not for your care
my nightmares aren’t ones where you aren't there, you only scare me when i’m awake

Im screaming because I have so much to say, and i keep it away because i know if i told you things wouldn’t change.
You’d just play your part, the victim
Behind the scenes, the open door, the sunshine and the galore of “family”
That knife in your voicebox would ****** me
You’d burden me
Convict me, charge me guilty and throw me in jail
Lock me up, push me away, throw peanuts at me
Then you’d say, “Monkey, Monkey in the cage”

If I place my unvarnished self before you
The bruises I do not hide
The hungers I cannot starve
The storms that refuse their leash

Or would you look at me
And see the ruin of what you thought you loved
While I stand here
Knowing the ruin was always  me ?

by Geof the cheeky breakfast bard

I tossed some thoughts into the blend
A cup of hope, a half-wilted friend.
Banana peel of bygone days,
And berries bruised by wistful haze.

Almond milk of maybe-so,
A mango flash of long ago.
One dash of “should’ve,” chilled regret,
A swirl of dreams not done just yet.

I stirred it once with quiet grace,
Poured in a smile, pulp to face.
Some leafy truths, still bold and green,
From tangled vines of might-have-been.

Then irony, that spry old spice,
Snuck in with “wisdom's” thin advice
“Regret's a flavour for the brave,
Served best in chalice we misgave.”

I shaved some ginger, sharp, sincere
To cleanse the gut of latent fear.
And as the final blend grew thick,
I sipped, then sighed, “That did the trick.”

good morning me
the cold AC, hot coffee thats sweet
good morning man
who holds me all night, love of my life
good morning cat
kneading and stretching on the fresh blankets
good morning dog
you bark like a rooster saying
Goodmorning

You wanted attention—
so I gave you a front-row seat to your own downfall.

You slithered into stories that were never yours,
clawed your way into rooms where your name was never whispered,
and poisoned wells you were never invited to drink from.

You thought if you smeared enough dirt on me,
you’d shine brighter.
But baby, even rats look clean in the dark—
until the lights hit.

You wrote me off like I was disposable.
But here's the plot twist:
It was never my name in the notebook.
It was yours.

I didn't have to lift a hand.
I didn’t need revenge.
The universe keeps receipts.
And you?
You're just another stain it decided to wipe clean.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say.
But you?
You died verminously—squirming in your own filth,
desperate for applause that never came.
Dead not by my hand,
but by your own hunger to be relevant.

So here it is. Your obituary.
Signed not in blood,
but in silence.
You lost the war you started.
You wrote the script for your own erasure.

Death note: verminously dead.
The end.