The more I observe my circle, the clearer colors show,
Truth unveiled in whispers, in shadows they throw.
They judge, they speak, casting words in the air,
Yet their inner selves mirror what they declare.

Sometimes I choose silence, not to push them away,
But their hollow words make comfort stray.
It's not that I dislike the chatter they bring,
But emptiness in speech can clip my wings.

So, I sit with my thoughts, a quiet retreat,
Listening to life, where truths discreet.
In their echoes, I find what’s real,
A sanctuary of calm where wounds can heal.

Closed doors and soundproof walls,
Yet darkness drowns these endless halls.
Flat on my bed, eyes trace the ceiling—
Does silence breathe, revealing meaning?

Silence should be the absence of sound,
But whispers swirl, echoing around.
Are phantoms lurking within these walls?
I race to the door—no soul in the halls.

I seek reprieve, a fragile peace,
Yet shadows mock; they never cease.
The remnants of ghosts choose to remain,
A torment etched in sorrow's refrain.

'Silence! ' I scream, through laughter, through tears.
Is this the mask of madness and fears?
'Who are you? Where do you hide? '
I beg for solace; none abide.

I rise to wander, fractured and blind,
Until I face the truth confined:
There is no other, no haunting kind—
Only the chaos within my mind.

The bourbon burns, its fire subsides,
Yet fails to drown what inside resides.
The whispers swell from faint to loud,
A tidal roar, a gathering crowd.

Their echoes rise, grotesque, unkind,
Blurring the edges of space and time.
Confusion spreads like vines that bind,
Tugging my soul, dismantling my mind.

The noose still hangs, a silent plea,
A relic of past attempts to be free.
Is this my sign to escape the fight,
To yield my place, dissolved through the night?

But even as despair takes hold,
A flicker of warmth, defiant and bold:
A memory stirs, its light entwined—
Perhaps the voice I hear is mine.

Hunger changes everything.
Although everyone and everything has intention,
hunger is no different, no matter what it's for.
Your heart, an apple dangling from a branch
I could not reach until I became hungry.
It became the object not just of affection,
but of my appetite.
I wanted not only to bite into it,
but to savor what makes you, you.
I reached until I grabbed it,
the apple that is your heart.
No matter how the branch swayed,
I was determined.

Under any other circumstance,
I would not have touched it,
maintaining composure when it came to
the apple of your heart.
Overthinking myself out of what could have been
one of the most beautiful things,
feeling unworthy,
until hunger made me notice you more.
Want turned to craving,
and I realized that the most precious things
erode and disappear over time.
Half smiling, yet anticipating change,
I know that, in time, I, too, will erode
remembering how sweet you were,
inviting me to quench
not just my hunger, but my thirst.
After a while, it wasn’t about hunger at all.
I just wanted to be close to you

The realm of disguise.
So apparent is intoxication, however, seen by the masses, invisible to one's own deception in the making.

A nightmare, you wake up sleepless, rushed by acquainted thoughts of the obvious and absolute tedious workings of  your insides willing to wash you out, in attempts to clear your sins.

God can't save me now, nor can the height of which my conclusions barrel off of a building that I once loved.

Home?

Perhaps the sandman that ls offered to me in little bags will allow dissociation enough.

Why does it always come back to me,
Not having those around when I need them most?
Is it just me, lost in silence,
Not communicating, feeling like a ghost?

For all that I do, all that I give,
I wish for understanding in return;
I’m tired of being the strong one,
The one who knows yet feels the burn.

For once, I need someone to see,
To understand without my having to spell;
I know I sound like a broken record,
Caught in this cycle, trapped in this shell.

I try my best to be there, to care,
Postponing my plans, leaving troubles behind;
Pretending I’m whole, while I’m barely aware,
Hoping for warmth, a connection to find.

Is it wrong to expect, to want a reply,
To hope for a check-in from those I adore?
Is this what friendship means, a soft, quiet sigh,
A dance of giving, but always wanting more?

Did I miss the memo, all these years long,
Foolishly dreaming of bonds that could thrive?;
Is this what it feels like, to search for a song,
Only to find it’s just me trying to survive?

Who do I ask when I’m weary and worn,
Tired of being the one with the words?
I loved those who listened, but now I’m forlorn,
Only to find they speak only for their own.

Yet still, I hoped for someone who knows,
Who loves words as deeply as I;
But they speak for themselves, as the silence grows,
And I’m left wishing for just a reply.

Is it too much to ask for a few simple words,
A flicker of kindness, a moment to share?
In this vast sea of voices, where silence is unheard,
I yearn for a friend who will truly care.

Sometimes I love my reflection.  
Other times, he's just a bad friend—fixing his lips like he's about to interrupt me before I get my thought out good.  
When I stop speaking, so does he.  
What do you expect? He's me. ****.  
In truth, the bills are paid, and all current business is handled. But something is missing. It’s obvious. He just looks and shakes his head—my reflection.  
I'd be lying if I said I didn't care.  
I've gotten used to the silence that follows me. It's peaceful.  
When I make it home after a long day, if I touch something, I know where it is.  
If I cook something, I know there's more, even if I don't eat it all.  
He sits back and watches all of this.  
My reflection. Half the time, I pay him no mind. Sometimes, it's better that way.  

But sometimes, I wouldn't mind a bit of noise

i shudder to heed
the animal i’ve become:
once a wolf untamed;
now a lost puppy,
squealing for his mum.

a saintly pelican, i thought meself -
back in the day,
with a bill so big as
my heart would weigh;  
now, but a vulture -
feeding on the remains
of unfortunate cows:
with a crooked bill, i prey.

a scorpion’s sting
could go in vain
on skin - like a crocodile’s -
that’s proof of pain.  
a chicken on the run? -
or the bloodhound
that caught her?  
nah -
more like a pig for slaughter.

a rattlesnake in hiding
with its venom depleted,
i long to emerge a phoenix:
find my mission, then complete it.
purge meself of the worm:
eat it - like a songbird, mistreated;
anyway -
i should get off my high horse;
the parasite’s more...
deep-seated.

a thousand miseries,
and countless trials.
****** footprints tracking bygone miles.
for all the times you traded a smile;
it’ll all be worth it,
after a while.  

spend some time with the guy in the mirror
you both have come a long way together
sure, he’s got a different hairstyle;
give it time - it grows on you,
after a while.

find a way to live through the pain -
like you’re on a burning train,
headed for The Elysian Fields,
where psalms of valor forever reign.  

soon, you’ll be on the other side:
grateful for the moment you died,
so you could feast with the Gods,
if only for a while -
then back to grind,
after a while.