Skin’s breath whispers along a contour, just toward a mask—
I covered all the fears I wasn’t ready to face. No step. No path.
Only the law of this place: the rules you never choose, or chase
and lovers who kiss, and then debate. That kiss that lingers,
then pretends to take shape; and finally collapses into shame.

But I climbed anyway. Dust settled on the staircase, each rise
slower, heavier—stare at the case; for this trial to court a love
that never stayed.

But the further I climbed, stretching the definition of luck,
I fell down more than once; the air above didn’t fill my lungs,
it just filled my lungs with nothing— it swelled my chest with
pride, hot air expanding this heart, but it was too fragile to hold.

Still— memory warmed me, heated moments in my pockets
I had to tuck. I spent dreams like coins, a childhood innocence
bought out too soon, those poor kids who spent all their tuck.
And hope bursting like a cannon shot, life demanding I give it
my best shot – stretching the definition of luck.

So I climbed, until it all snapped—
I fell, rose, and fell again. Here we are.

Tuck in your breath under your chin –
cheer up with a chin up; taking all that
wants to hurt you by the chin.

Asking himself, "how did I wind up here,
winding the clock in my back, searching for
something in the past; "those silly laughs,
those silly long hugs that wrapped around
like they belonged.

Both snuggling closely on that party sofa.
“But no, I shouldn’t sleep over,” she whispered.
He was still speaking in volumes, to own the last
control of his remote living.

Those expectant lips hoping for a soft taste
of goodbye. But the other party let down their chin,
chin knocking away his kiss. Dismissing me with
a gesture gentler than words, sharper than silence.

The night ends in tears.

Something that tastes too sweet stops feeling
like a treat. The tongue grows heavy, and the
stomach twists; as what once melted into joy now
rots at the edges — a nectar that poisons, a kindness
that clings too tight, a love that smothers until you
can’t breathe without choking on its syrup.

Sweetness in excess is a quiet cruelty.
it does not heal; it only hides the sickness
it’s already become. And maybe that’s the trick —
a treat that tricks the tongue, a sweetness so thick
it sticks like honey on the heart, leaving you
starving while pretending to be fed.

Too much **** sugar and even
the heart gets cavities.

Is it worth walking the tightline of life
as a drunken trapeze artist— feeding on grass
from the greener side? We are gentle, grazing creatures,
trading paint against the rail fence, peering through
cracks at a better life, always just out of reach.
I meet the ceiling of my limits, hanging from the rafters
of myself. I face the wall as if it could talk back, as if
my skeletons could speak through the plaster of the
closet that hides them.

Beneath the roar in my chest, a lion would still cry—
but never in front of their pride, perhaps because
of pride. A new man, mane brushed clean, yet what
is new when the old still haunts, when it’s harder
to forget regret than to accept what must be accepted?
So I obliterate the past, declare death to the old self—
all the undone things, all the debts unpaid.

On the cards I’ve been dealt, I keep a poker face
for enemies. But I never play a hand just to impress;
I clean up my own mess, one move at a time.
Watch every step you take. This is life’s tightrope.