I wear polo shirts
to cover the hurt,
marks on the neck
from a night
where life was asking me
to settle the final check.

glass sweat /
brass vines breathe /
sun-caged in clock‑teeth /
one amber falls —
the quell is whole

a poem collapses language into feeling.
connection isn’t absent—it’s shattered.
grief lives in the space where meaning fails.

Love, once central, now spirals—
fragmented, ******, falling inward.
It doesn’t speak. It disintegrates.

Beauty isn’t verdict.
            It moves—
     slow, sudden.

One eye sees chorus.
      One hears a bell.

We met in the middle.
      Called it human.

          No greetings.
      No apologies.

Just the sentence,
already burning.

Silence held the shape.
        We stepped in.





.

cold in my chest where charcuterie burned
pages of lifelines now crackle and moan
prayers for a future never returned
and silence within, the loudest I’ve known

ghosted in comment box  
    where goodbyes decay, unread  
                I draft silence now—  
  syntax can't cradle absence  
nor data warm the soul

i didn’t want to,
but i wrote anyway.
cracked open
like a shell,
flooding with memory.

some words
arrive as if they’ve waited
their whole lives
to be read.

"Archive Soul”
  
An archive opens:  
folder titles like breaths you forgot.  

Inside, your silhouette fractalised—  
flesh parsed into metadata.  

Memory = 84% accurate.  
Love = untagged.






.

i'm a lost soul,
ash for pieces,
stranded
with failures
that pray
in quiet memories,
to be remembered.