#conclusions - Hello Poetry

1st Track: They say to forget about you, as if memory were a switch, as if devotion could be muted by human hands fumbling the fader. But you arrived in me in a quiet 4/4, steady as a pulse beneath the ribs of eternity. You imprinted your presence on my soul without crescendo, without warning— just a measure that never resolved. 2nd Track: Between the beats I hear your harmony vibrating through the double helix of my being, a counter-melody threading marrow and myth, rewriting my divinity into something that needed a name. Nightly rituals of Sleep Token and skin, sung lyrics in smoke-filled air, incense of breath and belief. 3rd Track: I remember sitting in my car, my fingers foxtrotting on your skin, as if touch itself were notation— learned, repeated, sacred. Your fingers laced through my hair while my mouth confessed Secrets between your thighs, That the stars were never meant to hear. Even gods kneel when worship is mutual. 4th Track: Even gods forget the throne when heaven answers back. They say forget about you. But how does a god forget the moment love entered his heart like spilled ink— permanent, staining, holy? Have you forgotten? Or are you yearning, lusting to remember— feeling the echo haunt your quiet moments, the way unresolved chords refuse to sleep? 5th Track: Is that why you vanished? A rest instead of a note? A sudden silence where the orchestra was still breathing? On Christmas Eve I sit alone in the snow, a fallen constellation in mortal clothes, remembering the shape of you— how you fit against me like destiny pretending it was coincidence. And still I listen. Still I count the measures. Still I wait for the downbeat that brings you back into time. Static At The End Of The Record: I still conduct the silence, hoping your name returns in minor key.

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Jan 22

Jan 22, 2026 at 12:38 AM UTC

InkWept

SPILLED INK IN COMMON TIME

1st Track: They say to forget about you, as if memory were a switch, as if devotion could be muted by human hands fumbling the fader. But you arrived in me in a quiet 4/4, steady as a pulse beneath the ribs of eternity. You imprinted your presence on my soul without crescendo, without warning— just a measure that never resolved. 2nd Track: Between the beats I hear your harmony vibrating through the double helix of my being, a counter-melody threading marrow and myth, rewriting my divinity into something that needed a name. Nightly rituals of Sleep Token and skin, sung lyrics in smoke-filled air, incense of breath and belief. 3rd Track: I remember sitting in my car, my fingers foxtrotting on your skin, as if touch itself were notation— learned, repeated, sacred. Your fingers laced through my hair while my mouth confessed Secrets between your thighs, That the stars were never meant to hear. Even gods kneel when worship is mutual. 4th Track: Even gods forget the throne when heaven answers back. They say forget about you. But how does a god forget the moment love entered his heart like spilled ink— permanent, staining, holy? Have you forgotten? Or are you yearning, lusting to remember— feeling the echo haunt your quiet moments, the way unresolved chords refuse to sleep? 5th Track: Is that why you vanished? A rest instead of a note? A sudden silence where the orchestra was still breathing? On Christmas Eve I sit alone in the snow, a fallen constellation in mortal clothes, remembering the shape of you— how you fit against me like destiny pretending it was coincidence. And still I listen. Still I count the measures. Still I wait for the downbeat that brings you back into time. Static At The End Of The Record: I still conduct the silence, hoping your name returns in minor key.