Crush cut **** flip
**** guns **** kids
Sharp knife dig into the blood honey spread thick

It’s a mode it’s a *** shoot show it’s a stitch
Everyone will grow in his heavenly dome ring

You’re already less eternal than I...
By killing a kid in the blink of an eye
I don’t need to believe in a heaven you see,
I just feel the breeze in the arms of the trees

You’re a smudge on a page
A pen that’s exploded
Not like the kids who’s blood will be moulded

What will you do when your wind-up stops working?
Your teddy bear lurking– its eyes can’t be fixed
It’s too late now, you’re trapped in this -
Where muddy roots mutate your tapestry wings...

Adrift in shadows, hollowed by the night,
Yet gratitude still flickers, frail but bright—
A thirst for dawn, though weighed by whispered sorrow,
We clutch the fraying thread of tomorrow.

The ache of absence hums, a silent hymn,
Melancholy’s wine pools to the brim.
But in these ruins, treasures softly gleam:
A map of scars where longing dared to dream.

Our story trembles, ink on splintered wood,
Yet pulses warm where hopelessness once stood.
The thread, though thin, spills gold through vacant air—
A silken ladder climbing despair.

We’ll stitch the rift where darkness bleeds to blue,
And weave the tale our hunger dares renew—
For even fractured light still claims the skies,
And dawn persists in tired, stubborn eyes.

she ran a hand over her heart.
the tip of her finger got caught
in a small stitch tightly sewn
to keep her heart together.
but in that fateful moment,
the stitch quickly unraveled,
loosening her still-beating heart
until the pieces could do nothing
but stumble around each other,
crumble into soft, maroon dust,
and settle into her weary bones.

looking up at the sky,
wishing to be a part of is
what we all dream of—
then come those
who stitch up their feathers to fly;
to prove that you can own that sky
with your efforts
rather than chillin'
if we really desired for the sky,
we had been one of those
but sadly, we can't make a difference
though it's not late

I leave empty spaces of crowded stillness
In hopes that past promises can sew themselves
into the embroidered stitches
of your wise words
And you speak to me, unbound
A heavy heart in your hand
And I carry it, quietly, searching for its rhythm

Done, ends stitched in a seam—set
to be worn over yourself.
A stain so bright, you sparkle.
Too far forward to flip. The sipper,
the straw, the soda. Bleeding ink
every blink, but still brimming.
Ripped apart like a rainbow.
A love letter to life still
in the works.

So dead you’re divine.
Only visible in the love-light.
Weird as a plant that bites
the bully, as a phlox
sprouting through sand.
Wingless like wind, fin-less
like a fluid. Lost but
listening to your own heart.
Found.

The sun rises above
the white mountain-tops
penetrating air crystals
wondering the beauty.

When the ice melts
it flows down the heart
as the snow breathes
its ceasing stay in visit.

You wonder where
are the melted hearts
you dig down the snow
collecting faded flowers.

Flowers of ice, flowers
of lost illusions and misery
flowers of love and hope
you stitch them all in one.

I know how it feels to be lied to and alone.
You tore out the stitches in me you have sewn.
I should have guessed when "forever" you intoned.
In your eyes, forever is brief. I wish I had known.

Sadness is as much
A part of our life
As happiness is and
this is the reason
I am writing now
For tomorrow who knows
I might barely
be able to stitch
The two parts together
With one mention
Of your name.

I will kiss the sadness off your bones
Stroke your DNA and reshape it
Cradle your heart
I will stitch you back together
And love your scars