#surrealpoetry
When memories of T-Pain fade,
And how he sang without an aid,
I lean into that small pink cloud
That floats above the noisy crowd.
The air is stuffy, warm, and high,
With no one else but you and I.
No logic here, no static rules,
No colder truths or rigid schools.
It’s only us, it’s you and me,
Could we become? Or could it be?
The weight of days began to fall,
The heavy cost of knowing all.
It tumbled down beneath our shroud,
Safe underneath this drifting cloud,
Where you and me, we are, are we?
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 5:24 AM UTC
The universe is a fractured manuscript,
a cathedral of paper where clocks split open like ripe pomegranates,
their seeds spilling hours that scuttle across the floor like exiled prophets.
The sky is not sky but parchment,
its blue merely ink stretched thin,
and when it tears, it bleeds corridors of fire,
revealing an orchestra of teeth
gnawing elegies into the marrow of the stars.
Time is a serpent disguised as a staircase,
each step a funeral folded inside a birth,
a carousel of mirrors that shatter into oceans,
where every wave forgets its own name.
Dreams drip from the rafters like honey made of shadows,
their taste both hymn and wound.
To sip them is to crown illusions with eternity,
to mistake collapse for revelation,
to eulogize the silence between collapsing galaxies
as if it were a love song.
We are chandeliers made of bone, :)
swinging above the banquet of nothingness,
our lungs filled with moths,
our ribs singing like stained glass windows fractured by lightning.
And when the final architecture crumbles—
when the mirrors eat themselves,
when the serpent swallows its last echo,
when the sky folds back into the mouth of its first silence—
we will stand incandescent,
not as bodies but as metaphors of fire,
absurd, impossible, holy,
burning in the grammar of a dream too vast to awaken from.
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 1:12 PM UTC
[R]ainclouds chew on sleepless cities,
Rusted coins hum beneath our ribs.
Rivers of static crawl through marrow,
Rising—blind birds beneath the flood,
Roots drinking from forgotten thunder.
[I]nvisible fevers dance in mirrors,
Ivory ghosts braid smoke through breath.
Ink moons bloom inside the skull,
Islands of pulse refuse to drown,
Inventing dawns in their own shadow.
[S]ilence stitches itself to tongues,
Silver guilt drips through glass veins.
Spines grow gardens of broken clocks,
Stars whisper old courage to dust,
Suffering curls, becomes a new seed.
[E]arth cracks open its quiet grief,
Echoes feed on hollow laughter.
Eyelids burn—yet visions flower,
Embers sculpt light from ruin’s mouth,
Eternity hides in human ache.
[N]ames dissolve in molten sleep,
Night eats memory, slow and kind.
Nerves hum like temples underwater,
Naked faith drags its golden limbs,
New suns hatch beneath the skin.
Oct 25, 2025
Oct 25, 2025 at 11:14 AM UTC
My breath, light as feather, words like dust—find it best
not to speak too much, lest I seem soft as a feather duster.
Dreams of a perfect body, shadowed by many premonitions,
permissions granted only by the mountains where I took life
by the heel—miswriting heal, and climbing that endless hill
toward closure.
I saw a fish in a teardrop, a sad smile crossing its face; and it
weighed the world on its scales. The river’s currents glistened
with depression— so I pushed upstream, crying a mountain’s
worth of water.
I fought not to wash myself away, lying beneath it all, while
an angel kissed my twisted hair; locked my thoughts in place.
Perfectly ready to die, dancing to a song of reoccurring suicide,
a melody only I could hear. Must entail the full act of dying,
feel the strings beneath your fingers— chords played in secret,
as if David himself taught me the strum. To be an instrument
to a horn, to hone your skills, to feel like a big man someday.
Think of this the next time someone says, “Yeah, I’m okay.”
So much hidden, beneath that quiet syllable, an entire ocean
of grief swallowed in one breath.
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 2:37 PM UTC
Last night I dreamed of you,
mother-in-law.
You were resting by the pool—
the one where we once
spent our family summers.
I crept in quietly,
not to see you,
but to see him.
But you turned on me,
your eyes filling with tears,
asking the same words
he once threw at me:
“Did you come here
to ruin his life?”
I kept asking you—
What story did he tell you?
Because my parents
wished him well,
said he was a beautiful man,
that he would find someone
just as special.
Why did you never reach out?
Why did you never say a word?
Your eyes red,
your voice breaking—
I told you not to cry.
It wasn’t worth it.
You’ve suffered enough—
you lost a son,
you had a cruel husband,
you lived for everyone else.
And still,
you remain strong.
You are a warrior,
mother-in-law.
So don’t cry,
not for this.
At the end of the dream,
he appears at last,
smiling.
And though you spoke,
I no longer heard.
I only saw his smile.
And I wondered—
why was he smiling?
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 6:14 AM UTC
**Giggle, giggle—swallow beans,
Wash the dishes, clean the bins.
Mutton, fish, curry, and beef,
Taunts, sarcasm, dreams but grief.
Sush! The sound above decibels,
Buzz and roar—what about tinnitus?
Free, independent, no fear of inclusion,
No one to assess—but what about seclusion?
Sadly rich, with burger and fries,
Oh, nobody to deal with—sighs!
And there comes Peppa Pig and Panther,
All by myself to deal with tamper.
End of the day holds no meaning,
Reality, delusion, facts, and healing
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 3:30 AM UTC
Anxiety, do you think you love me?
Oh mind, do you want to be my friend?
A lonely stone in the full quarry
No chance that it will begin to swim
Shadow girl, with your many faces
With every ash you take to sin
Big voiced tropes steady unfolded
A fear to never tell again
Aug 7, 2025
Aug 7, 2025 at 9:17 AM UTC
Everything I touch disintegrates into a thousand butterflies,
Which makes it hard to love someone,
For I never know how to control the flamboyant flapping of their wings.
Once the tangential transformation has caused their rise,
It's like trying to catch the midnight sun
in an attempt to focus on what each of the creatures sings.
Their swanly swirling in the air causes my consciousness' demise.
My thoughts seem on the run
from reason and the yellow insects play my sensation's strings.
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC
I take deep breaths
And plan a ******
To **** the bird that flew
Over the crow's nest
On a summer night
I feel the warmth
Of the day not yet done
The sound of laughter
Is all around me
This is cool- I say
I find myself lying on a surgery table
Holding an apple in my hand
I throw it against the floor
And landing there
It bursts into a million
Children of my mind
Spreading into every
Country on the planet
I am the new master
As my children grow and grow
Still in rags I speak
And throw my thoughts into a bin
Their work is finished you see
Still the sound of laughter
Carries on around me
Living is easy
With your head
In the clouds
I saw- and still I hear
The giggles and noises
Of delightful romances being
Born
These should be mine
But they are not mine
Such things are little more than
Mist or whispers
Promises not yet realised
My children sympathise
And bringing me a woman
To sit with me in the tall grass
Together we shall
Plan a life instead
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC