Pray tell, Janus,
how, does, it, feel?
Does, your steel's,
duplicitous, reflection, reappear?
When, the, officed, place,
your, only-thought, used to, lay,
it's, bulbous head,
blossoms, into,
a, tangible idea?
Does, the bedrock's, stele,
make, flowering mettle,
of, the insecure hay?
And, from, the ore,
did, a, garden-variety,
blacksmith, bow, kneel, and, forge,
a sword, for, you, to, falsely, slay,
the poltergeist's, of, those, evil,
sons, and, daughters, seeded by,
that, shiny, yet, mistrusted,
Monarchy of Fear?

So, pray tell, Janus,
how, does, it, feel?
Does, your steel's,
duplicitous, reflection, disappear?
When, your mettle, is, made molten?
Does, it, maim, to see,
your, valued core, first, loosen,
then, wobble, as, you, backtrack, sore,
and, falter, on hearing, the, magma mists,
of, you, hiss, and, squeal?
Is, cerulean, gold, scarlet, and, purple,
all, that, you, listen to, here?
Does, the, imperious, court,
within, your mind, reveal, only,
Knaves-Jesters-Jacks-and-Jokers?
And, does, the, gilded line,
(you speak of naught),
that, you, and, your; Kings, and, Queens, crossed, of yester,
split; all, of, your faces, in, two,
with; royal-blue, hot, i-ron, pokers?

The answers, as always, were; curved, and,
swerved. In, a, spineless, motion, with, gall, but, without, feeling, or, nerve. Pride,
watched on, unaware, of, the fall, that, lay, beyond, the cliff, where, evil, is, served.

© poormansdreams

I was once the calm before the storm,
Soft-spoken, eager to please.
I bent and bowed to every demand,
Hoping for some small reprieve.

I was the sun behind the clouds,
A gentle light to guide.
But you saw me as weak, as nothing at all—
Just someone you could bide.

You shaped me with your empty words,
Your lies, your games, your hate.
You laughed as I stumbled and fell,
Thinking I’d accept my fate.

I silenced my voice to soothe your pride,
I smiled through all your games.
I stitched my wounds with fragile hope,
Yet you fed them with your flames.

But storms don’t stay quiet forever,
And wounds don’t heal by chance.
I picked myself up from the wreck you made,
And now I rise, not dance.




I did not create the storm—
I simply became it.
I did not leave it all to chance,
Though that's what you named it.

You called me fragile, weak, a pawn,
A shadow beneath your rule.
But every whisper, every slight—
You fed the fire of a fool.

And now the fool stands cloaked in rage,
Her fury sharp and wild.
You played your games, you stacked your cards,
But you forgot—storms have a child.




You’ll taste the ruin you left behind,
Feel the wreckage you thought was mine.
Each word you spoke to tear me down
Will now burn through your spine.

I am the echo of all you’ve done,
The screams you tried to drown.
The wrecking wind, the searing rain—
I’ll bring it all crashing down.

You’ll hear my name in the howling winds,
Feel my wrath in the quake.
You stole my peace, you shattered my soul
Now the storm is wide awake.


No mercy will I leave in my path,
No corner safe to hide.
Each piece of your fragile world will fall—
I’ll rip it from inside.


Your lies will hang like broken glass,
Cutting through your pride.
And every tear you tried to deny,
Will flood you like the tide.

A reckoning is coming, dear,
You’ll beg for the pain to end.
But this isn’t justice—it’s destruction’s kiss,
A storm you cannot mend.

You’ll know the torment you inflicted,
Feel the cold blade of regret.
For every wound you carved in me,
I’ll leave your soul in debt.


Let your castles crumble, your masks dissolve,
Let chaos reign supreme.
I’ll unravel your world brick by brick
Your life will be my dream.

And when the storm has taken all,
When nothing of you remains,
You’ll finally see the power you gave
To the storm born of your games.

Capitalism works wonders
when you buy your soul again
after selling it to the black market
just to have two more people recognise you

Blood is just another shade of red
for the ties of the clowns with the formal attires
and suddenly everyone's accusing you again
for committing epicureanism
when you were just trying to
devour minimalism
with technology that
working hands got beaten up for

Everything violent is unacceptable
until economy craves it
then you can demolish the whole world

******* doesn't produce
enough serotonin anymore
after you've already licked
every coin you were given
and then you hear a child mourning
their stolen youth
but you're just upset because
I didn't identify their gender

You don't look good with tears
yet you whimper every time
you're not donated with a package
so pathetically sad
when the billionaire
blood feasting cooperation
doesn't acquire your fake money

And then your portrait
in your pseudo glass reality
seems to be getting old
even though they promised
that beauty hurts
but maintenance forges
your ideal mockery

O what a pity
seeing you so edible
yet so gory

I bet you're dating to colonise
and you charge for every kiss
you once assumed you had synesthesia
but you identified every sound and picture
with green
then you proceeded to commercialise
your exquisite palette
with food you yearned for
and with every drop of your saliva
a genocide began to emerge

Crying again you inject yourself with venom
that dances with your older genes that you'll never meet

O what a pity
seeing you so edible

is it considered cannibalism
for us to eat the rich
or for them
to fanatisize our hunger
through bread and circuses?

if I never ask anything of you
expect nothing, give no opportunity,
you can't let me down
can't forget, change your mind
I'll keep you at a distance
so I won't expect a thing
retaining what little power I have

I'm not going to let you push me around.
Just because I chose to walk in peace,
Does not mean I am incapable of wielding anger.
Of which shines like a silver blade,
I am not too weak,
That I will crumble to you.
I am iron and steel,
You are wood and glass.

Do not dare make me your punching bag,
Lest I punch back.