i tear myself open
like a letter
never meant to be read,
until my hands tremble
and each line
bleeds into the next.

i’m the sum of everything
i swore i’d never be —
the cut, the salt,
the silent weight
of an empty glass.

the shell i’m left with
isn’t worth taking up space.
i became my own enemy,
when i ran out of people to blame.

a book titled the comfort book
carries silver-tongued truths disguised as preachings offering some peace.
turns out reading what's already known
is like seeing the result on paper—
having exclaimed, i won't believe unless it's shown.

can i slip in, as a matter of fact,
the moon is suing me for emotional damage
and all the pressure i've brought upon it, forthwith, with immediate effect?

she left a letter this morning while leaving
to hide in her contrary's presence—
a cease and desist nailed to the door of my self.
she claimed i'd stared too long,
longingly enough she’d started to feel bare,
and seen me stark naked as i whispered my dire lies to the night air.
she felt used. perhaps i committed a crime.
so i admitted, and asked for apologies.

except i was sent a summon,
to present myself and the plead-not-guilty note.
the stars—she put as the jury,
the night sky her lawyer,
the sun as the judge—he held fury.

i presented myself, humor disguising my truth,
but when they brought the memories to the witness box,
i knew i was done for—eloquently misjudged and overlooked.

had to take an oath,
but they lied under it even.
promised nothing was wrong.
i saw right through their plotting.

i aimed for the time reversing,
pleading guilty, admitting innocence.
my shadow whispered secrets i haven't lived yet—
and they brought her to cross-examine:
no one else but my imaginary friend.

she was mad.
mad for being forgotten and left.

so i did the next best thing:
tore my skin, let her scavenge through the inside.
she felt for the way my veins pulsed,
and admitted i was right.
speaking the truth, your honor,
i smiled at the moon,
but felt guilty for not seeing it sooner.

the universe had glitched—
whenever i cried, it glitched,
sent down a star to wipe my eyes dry.
in doing so, the stars suffered,
and the moon, without her supporters, lost her glimmer.
she lost her friends, as i lost my own.
and no, she wasn’t angry—
just a bit tensed, for she'd seen what happened to my hope.

the lawsuit resulted in me being freed.
i stood up, walked over, and gave her a tight hug—
the trial of chaos, and of giving life to non-existent hope.

she handed me the book of comfort,
written in white on a black page.
it glistened.
the often misplaced truths hide in the bright.
so accept them as you may—
they could be sour, bitter, expired to taste,
but breathing in the venom is one way to make sure
you don’t repeat the same mistakes.

and so this was my tale,
held in the celestial court.
i missed everything—except that i was forlorn, not too long ago.
i still sit at nights and stare at her,
but this time, she lends her own shoulder.
the stars scribble it down:
surrealism meets emotional rundown.

ominous as though it might seem,
this fits like a verdict-stamped
"not guilty" in my very being.

Through silver mist, my paddle dips,
A gentle glide where silence slips,
My canoe whispers secrets to the lake
Chasing echoes your ghostly wake.

Veiled in fog, my path unclear,
Yet drawn forward, I feel you near.
Each Paddle a question softly cast,
Through waters calm, beyond the past.

Your presence, magic woven thin,
Guides my heart, this trance I'm in.
The pond breathes slow beneath my hand,
Pulling gently toward unknown land.

I chase the shadow of your glow,
Where lilies dream and whispers flow.
Through misty worlds my soul aligns
In fog, your memory intertwines.

No rush, just peace, a calm embrace,
I paddle toward your gentle trace.
The mystery holds no fear for me,
For in this fog, you're all I see.

Beneath the hush, I'm safely led,
By ghostly trails your spirit’s shed.

july i wake up feeling disoriented, today is controlled by a reckless impulse to grab harder than usual. i don't remember the last time peace was here, every day a survivalist journal with dreams seemingly straying farther and farther away - i simply pass out and wake up w blood in my mouth. despite my expectation of war tonight i am late and unprepared, guard down just my pulse screeching in my ear because today is sunday and im at your mercy. you are a righteous god, cruel and cold, and i still believe tonight i will feel your hand on my cheek gently softly even fearfully touching, but yeah its sunday and its july and i am awake.



i miss you you know - i remember each time i saw you for the first time. the first time it was october of 2023 and i went out the airport, was with my mom, it was cold i was wearing my fluffy jacket the one that makes me look like a bear my hair was puffy from all the braids i slept in last night. then my mom said ''isnt that him'' and i saw you riding your bike ur hair swept up by the wind and it felt like a miracle happened that day. a waking dream. the start of something. something, nothing could have prepared me for.

the second time was winter again january 2024 - you were with my heart shaped glasses i left behind, looking mighty cool. best week of my life. i wonder if our gum is still stuck on the pink panther. i mean cmon berlin truly was ours those days.

june 2025. the third time i saw you. its been a year. my hair puffy again w a white dress. i woke up hours to get ready, to look nice - my mom said i looked like a doll. when i saw you it felt surreal like im watching a movie scene - you were wearing your beagle boys t- shirt. you listened when i told you to please wear it. its my favourite t-shirt of yours. it didnt feel right that time. something had changed.

i miss you. i really really miss you. everything feels wrong now. meaningless. prison. it feels like i am in prison. a prison of memories, a prison of hope. september 5th is supposed to be our next date. i never really noticed until now - but i am a ghost. i am living in our shared memories together in a places long gone - from those swings to the benches. i keep revisitng - its all i have. i lay my head there and i sleep there. we cant go back and there isnt any time.

what an empty epitaph that is—
the art of noticing,
fragility of life.

does iron fear the rot
that overtakes it in the moisture the world provides?

it is what it is,
but does it have to be?

plots of the unknown—how can i thrive?

liminal space of some sort, where i've found myself this once,
and all the other once’s.
i’m still in the spirit,
but the dead don’t return.

can’t find a body—everyone has souls,
not a single empty one.

i have stars on my ceiling.

can you hurt a spirit,
wound it like you’d wound a body?

find me a confessional—
i’d like to admit to my sins.

long since it has felt
like grief lives in the walls of this room where i reside.

you write and you put it out
and it’s like baring yourself in the naked truth
and ugly to everyone outside.
i intend to stay hidden—
in a shirt twice the size of me,
a pair of pajamas i should’ve thrown away a while ago,
and the same damaged pair of glasses—
except they’re light
and they feel mine,
with the same teddy and old laptop.

needed this to be a list of prompts.
found it making sense instead.
my life’s woven this way—
of symphonies, perhaps i’ll leave unsaid.

uncertainty begging for understanding,
faith asking to be relieved.
i can fit into the same years ' worth of old clothes.
have i never really grown, all this while?

i’ll save this to push it down the bin,
choke as every word comes out to spill—
the darkest of secrets, epiphanies of the night.
you breathe in the love,
tend to forget its might.

half-eaten swiss roll, rotting with sour cream.
a modified bunny made out of clay.
purple tulips—
but they’re fake.
i like the color grey.
cherry bombing every lie.
kiss till you’re numb,
dissociate into the wild.

what speaks—and what swallows?
golden halo of the angels,
wings tainted in red,
singing siren sounds,
myths ruled over, unclad.

i broke my old pair of glasses.
they’re beyond repair now.

When your home is away from home
Your brain feels like the rolling storms overhead. Consuming the night with a crackling roar.
The lightning only briefly ignites the black void that surrounds you.
Every fleeting memory comes with every flash, every strike. There in an instant, gone in the next.
You think you need to find “light in the dark” and your left with this profound feeling
This awe, wonder, a small sense of joy in this void you stand in.
But you remember that lightning is rare at home
You remember how you felt at home
How it felt the same as seeing a bolt of lightning.

You remember when you experienced your first thunderstorm with the one you call home.
You remember that your home would have loved to see this.

You walk dazed and dissociated for miles mulling over the past, your mistakes, your health. You drag on mourning your love.
You ridicule and loath yourself. Thoughts slowly frying in the blistering Midwest heat.

Then days come where there's an overcast.
A cool drizzle.
A comfortable sixty-degree day.
You see fog in the distance, and you can smell moisture in the air.
You stare at a pine tree longer than socially acceptable, knowing it's the closest reminder you have to feeling your roots. Knowing there's a whole rainforest beckoning for you to come back.

You sit at a lake and hear the Puget sound screaming your name. You can almost feel the sand beneath your feet. The waves against your skin. You can see the view vivid and longing in your mind. The sunsets, the mountains, the water, the smell of nature all around.
But then you remember your favorite spots. The countless memories with lovers and friends.
You remember all the conversations, the thrill fueled parties and adventures. You remember her. The hobbies, the quirks, the fun. The passion. The love. You remember she shared the same connection.

You stare at the Rockys and see their beauty. Their grandeur, their vastness.
But the peaks and slopes don't compare
They don't live up to Rainier.
They don't live up to the subtle shades of grey and blue, the snow caps, or the rolling green hills. You want to appreciate it…
But you know the last time you looked at those mountains, who you had brought home.

You miss the lights, the energy, the spirit of your city. The variety of your people. You miss the bars, and venues, and restaurants, the extravagant outings. You miss knowing all the spots, you miss riding the train. You miss the city life. You miss the partying, the dancing, the drugs. You miss her.

But you also miss the city life…
The one that took you down. Took you home.
And you know at this home you have family, but that family can't help you. That family can't love you the same.
You watch the toll you take; the tears swell in their eyes over the person they think you've become,
and you feel ashamed cause you know it's the person you always were.
You're reminded of all your childhood trauma and are thrown into the same environment you spent years escaping.
You feel lost.
Because you are.
Because your home away from home
is no longer a home.