#rhymingpoetry
Frogçoise drifts by with a vacant stare,
Gérard Defrogieu just floats on air.
Two thoughts total, shared like rent;
Neither knows where the other went.
Frogurt stares like he's seen a ghost,
Kevin forgets he exists the most.
Four small bodies, one weak mind,
A tragic brain cell, poorly assigned.
They paddle like chaos learned to swim,
Each leg a gamble, each motion grim.
No plan, no grace, just vibes and luck,
A synchronized dance of "what the fuck?"
They bonk the glass like prophets of doom,
Then spin in circles of vacant gloom.
A single neuron sparks, then dies,
A brief, brave flash of no replies.
I tap the tank; no thoughts arise,
Just elevator music in their eyes.
A council of fools in a watery state,
Debating nothing, but doing it great.
Yet still I watch these idiots thrive,
Four tiny fools, absurdly alive.
No schemes, no worries, no grand IQ:
Just frog-shaped nonsense… and I love that crew.
7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 4:05 PM UTC
People gag, they pinch their nose,
"It tastes like sorrow!" — sure, I suppose.
Yet here I stand, a licorice freak,
Eating the candy that whispers bleak.
It slithers in darkness, a snake made of sweet,
A villain's dessert, deceit in a treat.
While others seek sugar that's sunshine and bright,
I'm licking the shadow that conquers the light.
You all want chocolate, soft and sweet,
I crave despair that I can eat.
While your treats sparkle, pink and tame,
Mine hisses softly, calling my name.
Hand me a rope of that inky delight,
My soul's snack of choice, pure gothic bite.
The blacker, the spongier, the more I consume,
Like candy dredged fresh from a villain's tomb.
Salty, squishy, midnight chew,
Each bite corrupts my soul anew.
The edible evil, dark and slick;
My darling sin, my favorite trick.
"It's gross!" you cry. Oh, bless your heart.
Weak taste buds fear tasty art.
Give me that brine, that tar-black kiss,
I'll dine with demons over this bliss.
It's rubber and bitter, and gloriously vile,
One chewy strand makes cynics compile
Lists of desserts they'd rather endure,
But me? I'm devoted, deliciously impure.
Your candies flirt; mine plots a bloodshed.
You crave delight, I crave the dread.
Licorice laughs, a spiteful bite,
My candy crush, the taste of night.
So mock if you wish, o bland brigade,
My tongue's found delight in darkness displayed.
Let sugar saints keep heaven's gate:
I'll dine with the devil; edible hate.
Feb 25
Feb 25, 2026 at 3:19 AM UTC
Fresh from surgery, dazed but fine,
Half boy, half noodle, sort of mine.
His eyes were fogged, but wide with fate:
I handed him a single grape.
He held it close, the sacred bead,
The fruit of God, his only need.
Then whispered low, with dreamlike sigh,
“You’re so…so beautiful!” - No lie.
He popped it in. The deed was done.
Then horror bloomed, "I ate the one!"
He wept, distraught, the guilt immense,
For eating beauty made no sense.
The tears flowed fast, a sticky flood,
As grape juice mingled grief and blood.
Yet through the sobs, the hunger stayed:
He ate again. (A moral trade!)
Each grape a ghost, a fallen friend,
The feast of tears would never end.
And I, the monster, bore the blame,
A genocide now to my name!
He raged and sobbed, my fruitless knight,
A sticky-fingered soul in flight.
The orphaned stems, in silence, bled;
A kingdom gone. All grapes were dead.
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 2:54 AM UTC
They said the halls were not for her,
Too loud, too young, too proud, too sure.
But still she stood; unflinching, clear,
The storm they feared had found its year.
She fights for those the world forgets,
Where justice shrinks and power bets.
Her words cut through the marble lies,
A torch reflected in brown eyes.
For women told to sit and fade,
She built her truth and disobeyed.
Each bill, each stand, each righteous flame,
She signs in hope and carves her name.
For workers robbed, for mothers worn,
For every voice that feels forlorn,
She turns the tables, practised ease,
And dares the mighty to their knees.
So when they mock, when cowards sneer,
She answers fear with something sheer:
A faith in us, in what could be,
In love, in change, in dignity.
May 2028 come fast,
May democracy then last.
For if she runs, the world will see,
What justice looks like, finally.
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 3:27 PM UTC
I write poems for the crowd
'Bout things I shouldn't talk about.
My anger and my rage get penned
And that's how I got shadowbanned.
Instagram still claims they don't
Shadowban - But my posts won't
Reach people who don't follow me.
How do I know? Well, you see:
I wrote of the thief who rigged the race,
Silenced women, took his place,
Employed the Gestapo, a madman’s call,
Guess we’ll see World War Three this fall.
Then I wrote about men, strong and tough,
And that they get ***** and they're still enough.
I wrote about bears, wrote about ICE,
Wrote about morons, morals, and lies,
The Epstein Files, and women's choices,
About abortion, and silenced voices,
I wrote about Trump's cabinet of Orcs,
And why there are cameras in morgues.
See, here I am, speaking out loud
Things that should be talked about.
But Zuckerberg - A BILLIONAIRE,
Doesn't like to keep things fair.
He props up fascists, feeds the right.
Did you see Cheeto's tweet last night?
Penguins in Greenland! Oh, what a claim.
No clue, no class, no ******* shame.
He posts fake vids and AI lies,
MAGA gulps it - no surprise.
Don Jr. - the "video" of Alex Pretti -
Deepfaked clip - let's keep hate steady!
That filth’s allowed! We all know they lied,
But truth gets clipped, caged, and tried.
Speak out once about their regime,
You're a threat to the "American Dream!"
You lose your reach, your voice, your ground,
But sexist clowns still get crowned.
You’re racist? Great - your post’s a hit!
Support the Cheeto? Boom! You’re it!
Transphobic, misogynist, and proud?
Bless your hate, we’ll make it loud!
Dumb as bricks, yet verified;
The cult of lies stays amplified.
So here’s your safe space, it's not mine;
A fascist dome of filth and crime.
Where hate runs free, and truth gets banned,
That’s your empire: liar’s land.
Feb 5
Feb 5, 2026 at 5:18 PM UTC
He flirts with swagger, tough and sly,
Until one cotton ghost drifts by.
His lungs collapse, his pupils shrink:
The Red Sea's there - and he can't think.
A harmless wrapper hits the floor,
He screams in fear - out of the door.
Brave soldier gone with trembling knees:
Retreat! Retreat! Ovaries!
They mock our pain, but drop like flies,
When faced with proof of girl supplies.
The sight of pads or 'monthly doom'?
They'd rather face some deadly gloom.
A tampon's launched - a weapon, sleek.
His courage folds within 'the week'.
Men run from blood, though not from crime;
The irony just bleeds in time.
So girls, take notes for future use:
No ghosting texts, no lame excuse.
Just toss a ****** aim with flair,
You'll clear the room, the field, the air.
And when they ask what brought their fall,
Say, "tampons, honey - that is all."
He thought it's death, disease, or pain;
Nope - Cotton catching ****** rain.
Jan 3
Jan 3, 2026 at 4:27 AM UTC
He sighs, the tragic, aiding knight,
He is no help - although he tried.
A shrug, a grunt, a fleeting moan,
Then you do it all alone.
He doesn't know where sponges hide,
Or how a trash bag must be tied.
He's baffled by that thing - oh, soap!
Then stares at socks like quantum hope.
The vacuum next, a beast of yore,
Its switch a puzzle, mythic lore.
He taps it twice, declares it dead,
Then mourns its loss and goes to bed.
He gives his all to change the sheets,
Then gives up - All defeats!
The duster follows, no perseverance.
What's he good at? Disappearance!
He cannot cook, but burns with flair;
He followed steps - "Babe, I swear!"
He loads the washer upside down,
Then acts like he deserves a crown.
He ruins laundry, floods the floor,
Brings wrong items from the store.
The towels pink, the plates still greasy
Chores are "hard, and not so easy."
He cries, "I tried!" - his noble part,
His martyrdom? A work of art.
His helplessness? Weaponized!
Each clueless blink? Memorized!
Each time you ask, he does it worse,
The smirk rehearsed, his tone perverse.
"Oh Baby, really, I'm no help!"
He acts hurt, lets out a yelp.
And as you clean his tragic art,
He whispers, "See? You're just so smart."
The curtain falls, the trick's complete -
A genius act of planned defeat.
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC
If identical twins both bang the same chick,
And she’s knocked up and due in May,
Science throws up its hands really quick
'Cause of Schrödinger’s DNA.
Now both of these dudes stand there in the dock,
Saying "Not me," with the cunningest grin,
The judge pours a whiskey and stares at the clock,
thinking, “Hell, no one here can win.”
Forensics are useless, the experts are spent,
The lawyers double their pay.
Those two get off clean, no support or rent
'Cause of Schrödinger’s DNA.
The bar’s full of cheers as the twins toast their luck,
While the judge rolls his eyes at the mess.
"Two fathers, one baby? Oh, what the ****
This family’s doomed, I guess!"
Come birthdays, Christmas, or Easter along,
The kid spends these days in dismay,
Two fathers, two uncles, but actually none,
'Cause of Schrödinger’s DNA!
DNA can be fun (though not for this kid)
And it can go a ridiculous way,
So far that even the scientists quit,
Except Schrödinger - It would make his day!
Dec 25, 2025
Dec 25, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
Schadenfreude is a word
That many may have never heard.
The German language has its perks,
And it comes with many quirks.
You see, this term just can’t be found
In English dictionaries 'round;
There truly isn’t a translation
For such a really strange sensation.
Schadenfreude is what you feel,
A guilty joy that seems unreal:
The laughter you just can’t contain
When someone else is in some pain.
Or if they slip, or if they fail,
You try to hide it - no avail.
It brings you such a guilty pleasure,
A secret joy, a hidden treasure.
It’s not just someone that you hate,
Could be your sister or your mate.
Someone stumbles, and you laugh,
Having fun on their behalf.
Is it good? Of course it’s not.
Do I feel it? Yes, a lot.
Am I wicked? Naaaaah, am I?
I wouldn’t laugh if they would die!
But people failing is hilarious,
And their ways are quite various!
I chuckle, giggle, just a bit,
And my heart does a little skit.
For me, a bit Schadenfreude’s fine,
As long as no one breaks their spine.
And even though they may get hurt,
I love the feeling. Love the word.
So every time you feel delight
At someone tripping in your sight,
Remember, there's a German word
For laughing at someone getting hurt.
Dec 25, 2025
Dec 25, 2025 at 4:09 AM UTC
A kingdom built on fear and lies,
They called it law before our eyes.
The orange king still plots his game,
But truth outlasts a tyrant’s flame.
They cage the lost, the poor, the scared,
Then preach 'bout love, they never cared.
ICE hunts them down, spreads hate and spite,
But we record each shattered right.
Yes, we will move; we fight, don't pray,
We block the roads and say, "No way!
No peace for those who hunt our own,
We'll come for you, and take his throne!"
The diners slam their doors shut tight,
No coffee for a parasite.
The horns don’t stop, the lights don’t fade,
Revenge looks good in neon shade.
They thought the world forgot the past,
But guess what? The truth will last.
The trials come, your names are penned,
And justice waits around the bend.
So run while dawn burns through your lies,
Your paperwork won’t save your lives.
We’ve kept your faces, crimes, the work:
We’ll see you tried like Nuremberg.
Dec 24, 2025
Dec 24, 2025 at 3:10 PM UTC
He clears his throat, adjusts his tie,
Declares, "Now, let me clarify."
You've studied this? He's read a tweet!
And he will tell you in a beat.
He says, "Your thoughts are interesting."
But you're the peasant, he's the king,
Then he goes, "You couldn't know,
But, no worries - Let me show."
His facts are wrong, his tone divine,
What he just said? That was YOUR line.
Repeat, rephrase, sigh in despair,
"Thank God, my love, that I am there."
"Now look," comes next, a grin so sly.
"Well, surely, I can tell you why."
"Don't take it wrong," his face will plead,
"I'm just explaining what you need."
He calls you "dear" to sound mature,
Repeats himself, "Just to be sure."
Won't let you speak, no questions asked,
Fragile pride, so barely masked.
And FINALLY, that man is done,
He'll smirk, believing he has won.
You tell him off, a deadpan face,
Middlefinger, perfect grace.
This was YOUR thing, not his, oh no,
So you tell him, WHAT you know,
Embarrass him? He asked for it!
And if that man should throw a fit,
Just remind him who YOU are,
And that you didn't get that far
Without your knowledge and your brain!
All of this? YOUR domain.
Tell him off, or kick him out,
Don't be silent, no, be loud.
Mansplainers stop only when,
You call them out, these fragile men.
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 3:35 AM UTC
He once was named Möp, tiny and cute,
But soon in the tank, we had a dispute.
Möp went berserk, and even though small,
That ******* fish tried to **** them all.
There were seventeen, then suddenly not,
A few were missing, then more, then a lot.
Yes, Möp, the fish, was in for that slaughter,
The real reason for the reddish water.
So he went to jail, a tank on his own,
Here I am, watching him with a frown,
That ******* fish glares right back at me,
With a look just as evil as evil can be.
I really don't understand his demeanor -
Now, that ******* fish fought the gravel cleaner.
And last night I saw in the gravel some pits,
Plus there was a plant: now shredded to bits.
That ******* fish tore a plant apart!
But I can't **** him, I have a heart.
So he stays alone until he dies,
While I give him all the supplies
That he needs to survive, even though
He doesn't deserve it, because as you know,
That fish is a killer; he murdered eight!
So there is just him. And of course, his hate!
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 2:54 PM UTC
We wait at the crossing, my boy and me,
Just learning manners - he’s barely three.
"Say thank you, wave!" And there we go:
He lifts his arm. The right one. NO!
The driver freezes. My veins combust.
My boy smiles like 'in Mom I trust.'
The stranger’s face drains white as chalk.
I’m halfway ghost, too stunned to talk.
"Put down your hand," I hiss, half-dead,
My brain is reciting world-war dread.
Kid hums a tune, looking so cute,
After doing a full-on **** Salute.
Heart skips a beat, soul takes a dive,
My kid reenacted nineteen forty-five.
I melt into asphalt, my brain short-circuits,
Muttering prayers and moral frameworks.
I bow, I stammer, I fake a cough,
"Oh, kids - ha ha - not mine!" I scoff.
Her eyes say 'ma’am, your spawn’s possessed.'
I nod. "It's just... He... tried his best."
And as my shame cements its throne,
Let history mark this moment known:
The scene, the quake, the catastrophe,
Of course had to happen in Germany.
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 1:47 PM UTC
Search for topics, deep and vast,
Something tragic, mildly cursed.
Scroll through trauma, lovers past,
Pick the one that hurts the worst.
Start by thinking of a rhyme,
And be prepared to bleed for art.
Two lines in, you’re 'bout to whine,
Nothing rhymes with "vile ****
Try again, the pen feels grand,
But "love" won’t rhyme with "hanging tree."
Could "dove" or "shove" yet take a stand?
No! Welcome, first catastrophe.
Existential dread sets in,
"What am I doing?" echoes loud.
Pace the room, caress your chin,
Feel the void - and make it proud.
Frantic now, the hunt’s begun,
Scraping rhyme from corpse and tome,
HA! "Fun" fits "none" - the battle’s won,
Now your mind can freely roam.
But next verse, doomed by rhyme again,
Futile scribbles stain the night.
Brain cells dropping, one by ten,
Art and madness reunite.
Second crisis. Question all:
Insanity - the cost of art.
"Why rhyme at all? Why write? Why fall?"
Because endings crave a start!
Next verse, fresh delusions bloom,
Sure, this one will change your fate.
Three lines in, familiar doom:
Nothing rhymes with "craving hate."
Third crisis comes, so nice and raw,
"Why are my poems always odd?"
Contemplate some cosmic flaw,
Blame it on some absent god.
Search once more. Despair’s a trend.
There's no rhyme for "angst" or "doom."
Maybe that's how muses end:
By dying in a poet’s room.
The last verse starts with manic cheer,
"Now I’ve cracked the code at last!"
Then the rhymes just disappear,
All your genius drains out fast.
Fourth crisis, full warning sign:
Brain says, "Stop or you’ll combust."
Put the pen down, pretend you're fine,
And let the words gather some dust.
Take a break and close your eyes,
Let the clock do all the work.
Sip some wine, romanticize
Every half-abandoned quirk.
Fight a squirrel, eat some cheese,
Or whatever brings you joy,
Sing a song, or paint some geese,
Or watch the show "Siegfried and Roy."
Sleep at last, let silence grow,
Wake to words that feel less tight.
Rhymes won’t come by push and tow,
They walk in when you stop the fight.
Nov 27, 2025
Nov 27, 2025 at 5:43 PM UTC
I wrote some books - a darker spree,
A series of blood and play.
It's wicked, wild - a mystery!
The series is named DAY!
The seventh book will close the reign
Of terror, charm, and dread.
For Wanda Day's no saint - she's pain;
A goddess dressed in red.
Runs a hotel far from the sun,
In the Alaskan woods, so still.
But Wanda's hobby isn't fun,
She just loves to ****
She built a club, a twisted crowd,
DAY! - her deadly crew.
Each year they gather, fierce and proud,
To celebrate what they do.
Yet this year's feast turns cold and grim,
The Queen of Fear was ended.
The candles flicker, chances slim,
And everyone's offended.
Now cops invade the misty pines,
With questions sharp as knives,
While Colin, drenched in scarlet signs,
Vows vengeance while taking some lives.
He's aided by his closest mate,
Chris: calm, but cut with fire.
Both stalk the truth, both tempt their fate,
Through blood, deceit, desire.
Who killed the duchess of the dead?
The town begins to fray.
The murders breed, the fear is spread:
Who silenced Wanda Day?
A thriller of blood, of guts, of jest,
Dark humor through the grime.
Not for the soft or faintly blessed;
It's chaos, with a rhyme.
Think Desperate Housewives gone to hell,
Meets Hostel's bleeding art.
Entrails fly, fists strike as well.
Weak souls, best not to start.
So, if your nerves can take the fray,
And madness makes you stay,
Then start the tale that lights the way:
Read "Who Killed Wanda Day?"
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 4:15 AM UTC
Dear leafy diva, bane of my shelf:
What twisted mood are you in today?
I water with hope (and doubt myself),
You curl up ****** or wilt halfway.
Is it rain you seek? Or a desert drought?
Should I move you out of the sunbeam's glare?
You shrivel with power, then sprout with clout,
I swear your needs change midair.
Did I botch the soil? Too peaty? Too bland?
Is my tap too hard? Are the minerals mean?
I Google with frantic, trembling hand;
You pop a fresh leaf, then lose seventeen.
Your roots are a riddle, your spots are a curse;
I check for pests, I squint for mold!
Each symptom's a plot twist, each week gets worse,
You throw tantrums that legends foretold.
But wait! One morning, a sprout unfurls,
And I dare to believe I'm not deranged.
It gladdens, it curls, my hope unwhirls!
Then you ****** a leaf. Oh, nothing's changed!
So here's my confession, you vexing green brat:
My patience is spent, my sanity frayed.
I'm one wilt away from moving out flat,
But you're lush, so you win! Well played.
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 2:08 PM UTC
My child said, "Let’s get fish, it’ll brighten our day."
Now four tanks later, the light’s burned away.
We started with one, a serene little pond,
Now we bankroll Atlantis - a watery bond.
The fish came first, naive and adored,
He said, "Let's add frogs!" - Sure! I'm fiscally bored!
But fish eat like monsters: fast, smug, obscene,
While frogs starve politely - amphibian cuisine.
So tank two was born, a symbol of reason,
Splitting chaos by glass is somehow in season.
Then Möp declared war, his fins full of spite,
Chasing poor Tröt through the day until night.
Exiled to tank two, a solitary fiend,
He broods on revenge, unnervingly gleamed.
We packed for vacation, escaped for a week,
Returned to discover the frog plan was bleak.
So tank three arrived, a relic of grime,
Scrubbed with regret and industrial crime.
No equipment? The shop sealed our fate, all slick:
"Buy a bundle - it’s cheaper!" (Economics’ trick).
So tank four joined in, the final decree,
My home's now a shrine to watery spree.
Möp floats in silence, plotting coups in his bowl,
A monarch of madness, no subjects, no soul.
The frogs croak in corner four’s algae-plagued gloom,
The fish swirl in tank one, plotting my doom.
I water-test daily - existential despair,
While bubbles rise slowly like prayers to nowhere.
So, four tanks hum softly, absurd and profound,
My living room glows, but my sanity drowned.
Each hum reminds me, in rhythmic refrain,
That tank three's still empty - and I am insane!
Nov 12, 2025
Nov 12, 2025 at 4:01 PM UTC
I love to loop lines laced with sly sounds,
Sassy spins of sharp, sneaky speech,
A dark delight in daring rounds,
Where twisted tones teach tongues to screech.
Words whirl wicked, wild, and wry,
Crafting curses cloaked in charm,
I'm queen of quips that quietly pry,
With blithely biting words that calm.
Alliteration's my artful vice,
Fierce phrases, flawless and fast,
I'm hooked on the hiss and the ice,
Where haunted humor's spell is cast.
That's me: a master of mirth and malice,
A siren singing in sly suspense,
Playing with patterns, prose, and palace,
A twisted token of tense nonsense.
In snide scripts, I slyly sneak,
Sardonic sounds that slice and sting,
A sharp satire that's bold and bleak,
With every eerie echoing.
I chase the charm of clever crime,
Cunning crafts of cruel intent,
Where rhythm rips and reasons rhyme,
And meaning's masked, maleficent.
So here I hail my twisted tune,
A mistress of the midnight's mirth,
With wicked words that wound and swoon,
I'm alliteration's dark rebirth.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 2:40 PM UTC
Halo-filtered frauds parade,
Holier-than-thou charade.
Perfection is bought and sold,
Souls reduced to views and gold.
Private jets on borrowed cash,
Sponsored morals, hashtag trash.
Selling wellness, faking fears,
Renting lives while drowning peers.
Pranks of cruelty, staged abuse,
Laughing while they cut the noose.
Grandma's fall? A reel to trend!
Human pain's the means, not end.
Kids for clout - paraded bare,
Posted wide for creeps to stare.
Stolen moments, likes accrue,
Childhood sold for one more view.
Grief performed with flawless hair,
Coffins streamed with ring lights' glare.
Shedding tears for grandma's wake,
Monetized with ads to bake.
ICU's the perfect scene,
"Pray for me - but like the screen!"
Doctor's whisper, deathbed near,
Haloed lies that sound sincere.
Faux compassion, pimped like ****
Virtue's dead, but likes are born.
Whored-out kindness, brand as crown,
Clout's the gospel, cash the gown.
Keep on scrolling, feed the beast,
Every lie becomes a feast.
They look vacant, husks of fame,
Dead inside - yet scream your name.
Oct 22, 2025
Oct 22, 2025 at 3:00 PM UTC
They whispered first, "The danger’s near,
Protect the flag, protect the land."
With trembling hands and stoked-up fear
They crowned a tyrant, fierce and grand.
The papers screamed of foes within,
While neighbors nodded, played along.
They dressed up cruelty as win,
And taught the children right was wrong.
Laws were penned with sly disguise,
Freedom shrank with each decree.
They jailed the truth and fed the lies,
And sold it all as liberty.
They bragged about the one pure race,
Right arms outstretched, their hate aflame.
While camps were built - a brutal place
For those they marked with ruthless shame.
The laws got sharper, paper-thin,
"Protect traditions!" they proclaimed,
But what they meant was: purge the sin
Of every soul they tagged and named.
It grew not fast, no, slow, routine,
A creeping dread behind the cheer,
But hate was polished - sharp, obscene,
And marching boots drowned out the fear.
They taught the crowd to praise each lie,
To hail the fiend disguised as saint.
And if one dared to ask them why;
They'd brand the voice as treason's taint.
The jackboots marched, elections gone,
Press was muzzled, chained, and whipped.
The terror just kept marching on,
And people's freedom cleanly stripped.
A flag was waved, the crowd obeyed,
To chants of order, pride, and might,
While cages filled with those they’d preyed,
And mercy withered from their sight.
But wait - this doesn’t echo past,
Not Berlin’s streets, not Auschwitz’s gates,
It’s in the headlines, crisp and fast;
It's happening now in the States.
See, silence writes the tyrant’s song!
Don’t wait for others, YOU'RE the fight,
So here’s your call: be loud, be strong,
So march, and shout, and claim the night.
It’s not just borders, flags, or pride,
This fight is one this world must share,
If freedom falls and truth has died,
No corner’s safe, not anywhere.
Don’t wait, don’t whisper; shout it clear!
Spread truth so none believe the lies;
Unite the world, let all ears hear!
We fight as one, as one we rise.
As Auschwitz whispers through the years,
A million voices etched in flame.
Their souls demand our rage, our tears,
So history won't repeat its shame!
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 1:40 PM UTC
You spoke so sweet, like honeyed rain,
A gentle balm for hidden pain,
You reached me first, you called me kind,
A softer love I hoped to find.
Your words were warm,
Your tone sincere,
You made the lonely feel less near.
But slowly, like the dusk turns night,
You dimmed the flame,
You killed the light.
The care you showed began to fade,
Excuses built where trust was laid.
You left my words to sit, unread,
While cold replies echoed instead.
You once were gentle, now you're stone,
A colder man I've never known,
You questioned me with veiled disdain,
And made me doubt through guilt & blame.
You made me feel I wasn't real,
Dismissed the love I tried to feel.
But I was here, I tried my best,
While you gave crumbs,
And called it rest.
So keep your cold,
Your distant ways,
I won't beg warmth on freezing days,
You lost a heart that cared so true,
The one who stayed was never you.
Apr 22, 2025
Apr 22, 2025 at 5:52 PM UTC
Who whispers through walls,
As icy tones
Coat the air of halls?
Shards of death
Taughten their grip
Bare white teeth
And heavy breath
Swallow the night
By twelve o'clock
Whilst those unmarked
Lay out of sight
Aug 17, 2023
Aug 17, 2023 at 1:56 PM UTC
Oh no not again
I knew it would happen
The unmistakable carpet stain
An innocent look of "it wasn't me"
As he bounds off upstairs
To spread more mud
"That's it you flee!"
Next time I'll be ready
With sponge in hand
And towel at the door
But you'll wriggle and squirm
"Just give me your paw!"
Swift and slippery
You think this is a game
Well i'm not impressed
On hands and knees with a rub and a scrub
Giving my patience the ultimate test!
Mar 24, 2023
Mar 24, 2023 at 6:37 AM UTC
There are sometimes just too many words,
to use, to pick or say,
we think we have them sorted,
and then they slip away.
We know the right ones
and plan what ones to use,
until we get all flummoxed,
leaving ourselves confused.
I used to be good with words,
but they've vanished from my lips,
if you're good with words yourself,
please give me some tips!
Apr 17, 2022
Apr 17, 2022 at 4:39 AM UTC