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I flee to the hill's quiet peak,
Gaze down where the depths unfold,
Knowing they could swallow me whole.

That knowing steadies my breath-
A whispered pact with the abyss,
A fragile claim to control.
whenever i feel like i've lost control, this is the way i redeem it
Dom 23h
Be careful when handling,
Built strong but I’m fragile
These days show how easy
A dam can break as the tears fall freely.

Lost in the “I should have”
And regretting the “I could of”
If all that I am is a collection of my actions,
Then let me play the role,
Explode on contact, this short fuse is blown.

Corner my confidence,
Please put me in my dunce cap
Because I’ve been fooling myself,
Thinking I was so impervious
Introverted dismissiveness
Led to severed ties and downed bridges
But I’d fall into this cab just to
Come back home, one last time.

Whatever may come
I’ve resigned myself to-
Walking through the doorway
Waiving my goodbyes,
It’s time I left you behind.

The me I was
When the hurt was too much,
Never growing up -
I split myself in half
To hope you can carry yours
As I can no longer look back.
Built strong, I was fragile
It was so easy to break the dam
When the tears fell easy,
And even the petrichor loses scent
As I take this bus into the unknown
Maybe I can give us a fitting end.
This concept...it's me talking to my inner child and exploring what comes next as I move into the next phase of my life. It's resigning myself to whatever comes next
A flame whispers, its voice too soft to scorch but powerful enough to alter the air.Beneath, the earth stirs, roots curling like the breath of the forsaken.
Every step leaves a mark, fading before it brands.
We bear silence's weight, hidden beneath skin-shadows that refuse to yield, flickering in light.
She walks in, her eyes like soft pencil lines.
She smiles when she looks at the waitress,
ordering a coffee.

I sip mine slow, looking out the diner window.

“You always draw this late?” she asks.

Only when I can’t sleep. Or when I’m hungry.
Just depends on which one happens first.

She rolls her eyes.

Falling feels like a good pen that suddenly runs out of ink.

Normally, when I draw, I’m in my own little world.
No conversation. Just my graphite and my sketchpad.
Of all the beautiful colors that life can arrange,
I admit—I’m intrigued by this woman.

I completely put my pencil down and let my coffee get cold.
But that’s how fast inspiration strikes.

This grayscale drawing, splashed with the rainbow that is her.

Although I’m listening, I keep my head down,
pretending I’m still drawing the picture I was working on
when she first walked in.

She sits two booths away, hesitating before asking,
“Can you draw me?”

I look up immediately.
“You’d have to come closer.”

I catch the reflection of the city in her eyes—
the blinking sign outside, the brake lights from the cars.

I flip the page and start tracing lines on my sketchpad.

She tilts her head, watching my progress.
I ask the waitress for a refill.

“Do you ever draw people you don’t know?”

I look at her, smile, and say, “No.”

At some point, we see everyone before we really meet them.

In a way, it wasn’t a lie.
I have seen her somewhere before.
Or at least, I’ve thought of meeting someone
who looks the way she looks.

But then again, art is subjective.

She watches me over the rim of her mug as she sips her coffee.

She leans forward.
“What do you see when you look at me?”

The most beautiful things happen at unexpected moments.

Normally, when someone asks a question like that,
if you answer too fast, it’s a lie.
If you take too long, it’s a lie.

Before I knew it, I told her:
“Someone that talks to strangers when she’s bored.”

She rolls her eyes.
“Let me see.”

I show her the sketch,
point at it, and imitate her voice.
“Can you draw me?”

It’s not exactly polished.

She studies the rough graphite,
scratched to life between the pores of the page.

She rests her elbows on the table.

Before she answers, I speak first.

“I think about what things can be, versus what’s presented to us.
If we tell each other something deep about ourselves—
a strong 7.5 out of 10—it’s going to be either forgettable
or full of ****. Either way, we’re both hoping
not to regret opening up
to someone who’s just going to nod and smile.”

She smirks.
“If I told you I love the progress on the picture so far, what then?”

I shrug.
“I’d still think you’re full of ****.
But you’re kind of cute.”

Falling feels like a good pen that suddenly runs out of ink.

To be honest, I don’t think it’s the uncertainty of where I’d land.
I haven’t exactly lived my life by the advice I give other people.

I never really think about the end of things.

Whatever I do, I just go with it and expect the best.
I think about it, of course.
But eventually, the ink runs out.

That’s just life.

Although I’m drawing her physically,
in my mind, I’ve drawn the curve of her neck twice over.

The thought of drawing someone else
doesn’t even come to mind
Dom 1d
There is power unfettered
In one’s right to write
Universes upon screen or page
Weaving words like clay or paint
To express or depress the senses,
As even us gods chase for the holy grail
Of inner peace and enlightenment therein,
So waste no further on fruitless squabbles
And show me world’s within your pen.
We as writers can create whole universes or use our abilities to convey messages in ways that can connect globally, we can write about our fears, our loves, our losses. we can create fictions or draw from our personal lives and strifes in order to make something beautiful and magical. I think we sometimes lose sight on the power of the written word and just how it may heal us to write, so to does it heal those who read.
Dom 2d
I remember chasing ice cream trucks
Long walks down by the shore side
Running through the streets and late nights.

Invincible no matter the fall
Bounce back and stand ever tall
Up and down this slummy street
We found the light in the dark
And remember where we used to meet?

Train tracks on a railway to no where
Salt hills to ride our bikes to a dumb dare
Swimming pool after hour escapades
And all the penny candy we could raid

Oh I remember,
And where did time go?
Why can’t we go back to -
A us that we used to know
Back then we thought of right now
But if we knew what we know
We’d stay in frozen spaces,
Time goes on and we’re missing faces
Photographs elapse the times we once had.

I want it all back.

Carnivals and monster trucks
Action figures and Toonami,
Dragon Ball and Boys Meets World,
And don’t forget the Ninja Turtles.

Super Nintendo and pizza
Personal pan and fiestas
Buffy on the TV
And Godsmack on the CD
We had it all and we had none
But when it came to then and now
I was too happy and proud
To pontificate on the truth
That trickles through like a leaky roof
Tapping my shoulder to remind
That there is only Play…

We can’t rewind.
Continuing my introspective journey I'm on recollecting my past with my present as I inch slowly to turning 40 this year
Dom 2d
She sits on the throne made of thorns
As a blooming rose catches blood drops
Like falling petals.

Eyes like cold obsidian daggers
Catch me in a trance bewildered
Dancing by the moonlit flora
Awash in diluted reverie,
A court jester to the night queen.

Her bountiful thighs part
And cross as her scent imbues
Madness at the froth of my maw
Spores like fungal infection-
Reduce my inhibition to a ravaging pulse,

This need -
Bores through sensibilities
As even the whispers of trees
Caution of these next moments
A harking plea from a zephyr breeze
But I am enthralled to this carnality
As she coaxes with her diaphanous digits,
I am but a genie to submit to her wishes

There by her side, sat below her
Kissing cold alabaster silky flesh
I could feel her touch, the wintery death of her breath
As fingers reach her wetted velvety lips
I could not feel her playful nips
As appetizers ripened hunger and her grip -
Cuffed ‘round my wrist
Pulling me from her honey *** gift
To meet her gaze, unafraid.

Lost in this trance,
Madness at the froth of my maw
I could not sense the peril,
Nor fear what I loved so earnestly
Without regret or second thought
As her effortless kiss caught my neck
Transcendental dreams reached fever pitch -
As my form began to sink from her effluvium kiss
My reddest wine is what she divined to dine
And the midst of such bliss
I came to fruition in nocturnal emission.

Awash in diluted reverie,
Ephemeral captured moments
Lost like youthful vitality,
As the last sanguine drop dripped dutifully
I was but a rose petal before the throne of my lover’s garden.
My goddess of the night.
The rope slumps—an unstrung throat.
Pills rattle like broken teeth.

The mirror unmouths my name,
gulps me in glass, spits static.

Outside, the city chews its own tongue.
Streetlights pulse like exposed nerves.

I step forward.

Or maybe I don’t.

The night swallows.

Nothing shifts.
Once untouched—so pure, so free,
A whispering breeze, light as the sea.
But with one soft push, I lost my ground,
No longer floating, drowning in emoting.

Chained in the shadows, longing to flee,
Trapped in love’s gallows, with no escape to be.
Kai 7d
God, let me wake up
With her fingers in my hair,
Her breath dancing on my skin,
Her eyes flickering like sunbeams,
Burning through my skull.

God, let me wake up
With her presence lingering,
Her voice tying knots through mine,
Our skin flush to one another,
Melting together and welding our souls.

God, let me wake up
With the scent of her perfume,
Her rings on my nightstand,
Blonde strands on each pillow,
Like threads keeping us bound.

God, let me wake up with her heart,
And lay me to rest with her soul.
Hi 🤍
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