Your signals are crossed
Whatever the plot was, you lost it
It’s somewhere between Paranoid Blvd
And Schizophrenic street,
Surely you have meds and I ponder -

Do you take them?

A simple look at the evident
And it is obvious you’ve skipped dosages
Flirtations in my inbox,
Associating imaginary coos from pieces -
You glue as being about…you.

A scornful moment later,
When you realize the sky is blue
And I’m not that into you,
There devises your next ruse
“OF COURSE” you pontificate
“YOU MUST BE PAUL,” you tell yourself

My DM’s go ablaze
With accusatory splendor:

“Not sure of your game, and really don't care. It's a shame; enjoy your time with the flying monkey (s) that circle Paul (Mister Truth), the narcissist predator, Ryan's new bestie.”

A litany of accounts,
Message, delete, repeat
Collect a few followers,
Post a few pieces hoping to bait your prey
And at the end of the day, you return -

And even in a poem, though I can’t see
Since you’ve blocked ; I can quote from my inbox:

“naǧí › Haunting In a Dream Paul. How many accounts do you have?”

See, I am and have only ever been me,
My name is clear as day,
And clearer still are the words I display
My motives, pure, and simple
As is my desire to write pieces and connect with artists,
I’m not Paul nor do I care who he is,
Chase your white whale, but please,
Take your medication, seek meditation
Find a means of salvation,
Mental illness is real and it can eat you alive,
I suggest that you at the very least try.

Ryan Geoffrey Hayward has me blocked, and is consistently defaming me and libeling me on his page.

Unlike him, I'm not about to go on a huge tangent.

The guy is an online predator, you can ask Kai, and her brother Caesar.

You can go to all poetry and just inquire to half of the site "who is Ryan Hayward" and they will all tell you the same thing.

He's the one who is permanently banned from that site, and who has been banned on this site previously in the past and has deleted accounts, made new accounts etc.

As for evidence, if you want to see evidence of anything I claimed you can check my blog, or sub-reddit. This "man" has been threatening children and vulnerable women for months on end, and has creepd out children.

As for Mister Truth...I don't know the person, I don't interact with them, nor have i looked into any of the allegations against him, that's not my beef and has nothing to do with me. I came here to write poetry and warn children of one specific person.

I am a father of a 16 yr old and I would want someone looking out for my kid if they knew a predator was lurking out there.

https://curiouscaseofryangeoffreyhayward.wordpress.com

Got a secret? Can you keep it?
Bury it deep in your grave.
Or I’ll knit a doll with ****** stitches,
Stern vows and broken wishes—
Bury it deep, or rot in the ditches.

Turning from my trustful gaze,
My thoughts twist through a thorny maze.
Calculating your faith,
As I sharpen my scathe.

Voices rise, a cursed din,
My ears trace every whispering sin.

Giggles fade, joy is peeled,
Just then, I know—
Your fate is sealed.

I wonder,
Why do we commit our darkest deeds, then tell?
The burn in our brains becomes a living hell.
I know you’ll tell.
I KNOW YOU’LL TELL.

Heart racing, humanity fading,
As I approach you, internally cascading.
Silent night, stone-cold face.

SUDDENLY—

Burgundy flows, sins atoned for.
My shirt stained,
With the weight of what I now bore.
No regret to shred,
Only two can keep a secret when one of them is dead.

When the words
"I am a poet"
escapes from my lips,
people claim how full
of emotions I must be.

They seem to be shocked,
when they get to read me,
my poetry, my work,
how little emotional I am.

I am a poet,
because once upon a time
I chose to write
instead of dying.

Only when I let my thoughts be free,
I allow myself to feel,
and only when I write
I get to know some version of me.

are you there God?
I have a question to ask,
a request to pray,
so please don't leave-
why don't you stay?

am I living for you
or living for me?
and if I die today
is it for you or for me?

God, if you're there
hear my plea,
listen to my cries...
all day and all night
I pray for your hand in mine
and all I can manage to hold
is a gun, a pill, a rope.

God, are you even there?
did you do this to me?
or did my sins bring me here?

and will it be the Almighty who comes to save me
or the devil who leads me to his grave.

God if you're there
please don't leave just yet!
I have one more question to pray
one last thing to say,

if I die one day, if I finally do...

is it because of me or because of you?
do my sins cast me into the casket of fire
or do you rescue me like a savior.

God, I ask one just one more thing of you -
do you miss me as much as I miss you?
have you forgotten about me too?
or was I never meant for you...

High, high, high
Up in the southern sky
On cloud nine
My penthouse looks divine

Low, low, below
I see them moving slow
Lesser mortals, lowlives:
A Dog Civilization thrives

They can’t move fast
For they aren’t destined to last
They bark and they fight
Eat, **** and mate day and night

In houses and on streets
They live with whosoever greets
And though they stink
They claim they can think

Now from my penthouse I see
Another penthouse way above me
From there on my foot, a bone fell
Enchanted, I started wagging my tail.

I am sitting on a leather sofa
In front of me a low oval wooden table
On the table a glass
In the glass some whiskey
In the whiskey some sleep
In the sleep an oblivion
In the oblivion some solace
That You could have given me
By not drinking the whiskey
By not getting high
By not abusing me
By not getting killed
By not sending me to jail
By not depressing me
By not making me a drunk
By not making me drink the whiskey
In the glass
On the low oval wooden table
In front of the leather sofa
That I just left
For good
For our home
For another leather sofa
Where we made love the first time
Where we fought the last time
Where your eviscerated body lay that day
Where asleep now lies another:
A helpless little body commemorating our dead love story.

We tangled in tropes,
two archetypes in love with the idea of change,
but never the act itself.

You thought I was the manic pixie dream girl,
a glittering deus ex machina sent to save you
with whimsy and wild eyes,
but I was just tired—
carrying too many rewrites in my pockets,
each one heavier than the last,
all of them missing their endings.

I thought you were the brooding antihero,
mystery wrapped in shadow,
a walking epilogue with smoldering regret,
but you were just scared—
your silence a monologue
no audience could bear to sit through,
your pauses dragging like curtain calls
for plays that never finished.

We wrote each other into scenes
with props we didn’t know how to use,
a wine glass left unbroken,
a door no one ever slammed.
The spotlight flickered between us,
a dim bulb refusing to hold
all the things we wouldn’t say.

When the script fell apart,
we blamed the writer,
the lighting, the set—
anything but the truth:
we were always the ones
tearing pages from the book,
ripping them before the ink had time to dry,
our story left trailing ellipses,
a script still curled on the floor,
waiting for hands that never returned.

The creator of this "PAIN" is YOU!!
Of All that you have PUT ME THROUGH,
Just MOPING AROUND and FEELING SO BLUE,
Here FIGURING out what I SHOULD INITIALLY DO!!!

IT'S TIME to CUT THESE STRINGS,
From this, we could NO LONGER HANG,
To me, it ain't NOTHING BUT A THING,
Relasing you, ALONG WITH THE PAIN!!

It was "YOU" who CREATED this TRAUMA,
It was "YOU" who had BROUGHT ALL THE DRAMA,
A POSITIVE BEGINNING is NOW MY MANTRA,
I SENT YOU PACKING and BACK YOUR MAMA.

No MORE PAIN,
NO MORE SUFFERING and
NO MORE SORROW,
I'M JUST PUSHING THROUGH
FOR A BEAND NEW TOMORROW,

OF ALL OF THE PAIN and
ALL OF THE FURY,
YOU ARE OUT MY LIFE,
I HAVE NO NEED TO WORRY!!

The SUFFERING IS GONE,
THERE IS NO MORE PAIN,
I CAN FINALLY BREATHE, AND
NOW, I AM HAPPY AGAIN!!!


B.R.
Date: 12/31/2024