#symbolic
A dry pink rose
looking at me,
in-between the consolation
but it's not even a rose at all
if anybody's said it
it's just a kind plant
shy and merciful
That takes an interest in me
it asks
"hi"
in a faintly tone
and offers something nice
in return for no price
gracious for the sake of character
or just because I am
I love the pink rose
I wish it would stay in the garden
but it wants to help other plants grow
I wish I needed more help
For once
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 3:24 PM UTC
I should stop writing graffiti
on the shower wall
because it just washes off
when the condensation melts
but the memory stains anyway
maybe I was creative
maybe I was a star in an empty sky
that young little girl held my hand
I loved so hard, but I let it go
so she could paint the path behind me
maybe I was imaginative
maybe I was innocent
that older woman held out her hand
but I walked away
I'm sorry, I really want to be
do I know what for? no
I should stop screaming
into a closed vacuum
because they're watching my words
as my lips purse and my cheeks redden
across the one-sided mirror
maybe I said no
but I really meant maybe
I was someone else
when she hugged my waist
but I pushed her down
a rabbit hole I didn't know was there
I'm sorry, I really am
do I know what for? no.
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 4:09 AM UTC
I wish I could walk a clearer path,
A glamorous path with lots of light.
Why am I here in this broken road?
A broken road with no sign of gold.
Men in suits stroll in smooth precious tiles,
Accompanied with those poker smiles.
Ladies strut wearing light fancy hats,
Carrying a small bags and Persian cats.
I seek a poverty escape route.
What I found was the voice of a mute.
Should I walk in sharp thorns barefooted,
Or mingle with elites, unwanted?
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 12:23 AM UTC
All I see
Is blood
On me
Hands
So many
Masculine hands
All over me
Pushing
And pulling
Into me
Grabbing
ALL
OF
ME
Violating me
It's all
I can see
Me
Being constantly
Violently
Violated
Memories
Memories
Memories
Memories
Mem
Or
Ries
I died
In a war
I fought
In a war
PTSD
From the war
Of blood
Of hands
That went through
Me
Trampled
Me
I drink blood
I eat hearts
Snap necks
Tear you
Apart
In the war
Of blood
Gushing
Rushing
Flowing
Drowning
Oozing
Goring
Thick
Clumps
Of
× Bløød×
I hate violent movies
They remind
Me of
My childhood
The gore
The tension
The release
Made up convictions
The blood
And guts pouring
That's me
I'm always pouring
B
L
Ø
Ø
D
DRIP
D
R
I
P
×
×
P
I
N
×
G
•
•
•
•
DOWN YOUR
GUTS
IN THE WAR
OF MY CHILDHOOD
IT HAUNTS
ME
MORE
THAN I'D LIKE
TO ADMIT
YOU WANT FORGIVENESS
HA
I WANT
TO QUIT
LIVING
BUT SURE
FORGIVENESS
YOU POOR ****
WISH YOU LUCK
I'LL NEVER GIVE
WHAT YOU DESIRE
FOR AS LONG
AS WE
LIVE
AND LONGER
AFTER THAT
I RELIVE
RELIVE
I IMAGINE
I TRANSPORT
TO THE WAR
THE WAR
I'M IN BLOOD
EATING HEARTS
EATING LUNGS
DRINKING BLOOD
FOR FUN
FILL
EACH LUNG
WITH
A GUN
FILLED WITH
LED
TIL IT'S
BLOOD
RED
PUT IT
TO
YOUR
HEAD
I'M THE *****
YOU'RE THE DRAGON
IT'S A BATTLE
OF EPIC
LEGENDS
IT'S
SAD
IT'S
ACTUALLY
PATHETIC
IT'S A ****** WAR
THE PEOPLE
ALWAYS
LOVE IT
CHEER
CHEER
👏
HOORAY
IT'S ALL
SO CLEAR
LET'S THROW
A
PARADE
THE PEOPLE
WILL
SAY
THEY
YEARN FOR
IT
IN THE WAR
OF MY
*******
CHILDHOOD
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 2:04 PM UTC
My voice was a seed sleeping under centuries of shadow.
The world spoke loudly,
but my words walked softly
like footsteps on sacred sand.
Silence lived with me then-
not cruel,
only patient like an old baobab
watching centuries pass.
It told me:
Stillness is safety.
So I stayed within a quiet cage,
woven not from iron
but from fear's familiar fingers.
Yet dawn is a stubborn storyteller.
One morning
the wind wandered through the grass
whispering wild, wandering wisdom.
The river answered in ripples,
and the sky slowly opened
its wide blue book.
Then I understood:
A bird is not born
to memorize the shape of bars.
The lock loosened
like dry leaves leaving a branch.
My voice rose gently-
not thunder,
but a soft song of returning.
Joy came to sit beside me
like sunlight on river water.
Once I lived under a sentence of silence,
but now my sentences breathe.
And the cage,
that quiet teacher,
became an allegory of forgotten courage.
Now I walk beneath the patient African sky,
a free bird
carrying the calm
of an opened door.
Mar 12
Mar 12, 2026 at 7:20 AM UTC
i
haunting memories ooze from my pores
condensing in the heavy atmosphere.
wave after wave of ethereal static
flashes behind my eyes
pulling me above the serene rot
& the
percussive
drumming of the downpour outside.
spellbound in a dizzy trance
i stare into the reflective looking glass
waiting for the stranger
in the mirror to blink
first.
ii
sitting in a creaky rocking chair
watching black-&-white russian films
on a bulky, box, console television.
the fork pronged, bunny-ear antenna
and massive
protruding knobs and buttons
distract me, bathing in the salt-&-pepper static.
i peer to the left. on the rusted windowsill on the other side,
four empty glass bottles stand:
two green, two
clear - filling up
with the buckets of pouring rain. outside,
horses graze in the flooded marsh -
their soaked manes
falling flat against heavy necks
lasso tied, with a noose fixed to fence posts.
I pity yet envy their nylon-chained fate.
in the fireplace
embers of a coal fire flicker. ashy smoke
dances with the dust
suspended in the grey light
cast by the CRT TV screen. an aggressive glow, haunting.
iii
braving eden on margate street
reading...
writing...
painting...
moving and existing
through tinted layers.
six shillings a week for the meek, begging
to eat anointed fruit & man-made vegetables. swept up
in a tornado of unaccustomed genius
i sit singing. my blues bleeding into latin grooves
moving me through the dissonance
of frowning echoes.
iv
[front page]
crisis after crisis,
screams the black ink.
**** it.
another hundred-and-eighty dead.
bombed for attending school -
but the other news said brown girls
don't even get to choose.
someone's lying,
or, more likely,
I've lost my mind.
> 2nd page
I don't know who is worse....
Noem, or Noam ¿¿¿
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 6:55 PM UTC
The trees twist in the darkness of a moonless night,
Branches cracked and broken,
Waiting for their final fall.
Snow floats to earth, reflecting light—
Tiny sprouts begin to rise,
The breeze carries whispers, entangled with doubt.
Silence stretches through the hollow,
Settling in fresh-turned burial soil.
Stars blink behind a veil of clouds,
As birds begin to stir and call—
Sunlight breaks the heavy shroud,
And warmth returns… with sound.
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 11:41 PM UTC
What happens to a day
that comes too bright?
Does it press against your eyes
like a question you can’t answer?
Does it hum in your skull,
a hard, hot tune
that won’t quiet down?
Maybe it swells
too sharp,
too loud
until shade feels like mercy
and morning feels like a dare.
Or maybe it just waits,
burning at the edges,
asking you again tomorrow
to bear it.
Feb 19
Feb 19, 2026 at 11:51 AM UTC
I dreamed of distilling a cure
from the venom of Bengali snakes—
a remedy for stroke,
so no life would fade
under the tyranny of clotted blood.
With that hope, I walked into the forest.
There, I saw three snakes
coiled tightly around a girl’s hand.
"Three will be enough,"I thought.
From their poison, I would craft a medicine,
bring honor to my country—
perhaps even a Nobel Prize in 2026.
But alas—
how fragile ambition can be.
The plan collapsed in an instant.
They were harmless,
venomless creatures.
And I returned,
spending the day in restless anger,
scratching at my disappointment.
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 7:29 PM UTC
my branches stretch as I awaken from my slumber
leaves touching the sky, a day unlike any
other
the birds are singing their song,
though something seems very wrong..
it’s not normal to leave early when I have lovely branches to sit on.
I hear noises from down below,
right where my roots pierce through the dirt.
why are all these people gathered around me?
they use a tool that really hurts!
at my skin they pound and pound,
the grip of my roots tighten under the ground.
what do they think they’re doing?
I scream but do not make a sound.
my roots are going numb,
I hear the metallic sounds of machinery hum,
I feel something hacking away at me—
Its rhythm almost like a drum.
THWACK!
THWACK!
THWACK!
I think I’m starting to lose too much sap-
THWACK!
THWACK!
THWACK!
my bones break with a sickening crack.
in one last attempt at survival,
I reach my leaves up towards the sky,
but I couldn’t get within its grasp,
my body falls and hits the grass.
Jan 27
Jan 27, 2026 at 1:12 AM UTC
A raindrop:
for me
it falls. A silent dream,
withheld screaming, slightly touch.
Else cut off
by the hormones pinning my eyes
down, flooding my ears,
my cries.
Out of me, a desperate reaching
for the crystal glue
that keeps two one.
A jealous -
fire sermon,
the finish
steals her
from me.
Nov 24, 2025
Nov 24, 2025 at 6:04 PM UTC
Loosing the strings around my mind, like a gift no one could wait for me to have.
Grim hope fills this vessel, as light shines from the darkest corners.
Callous fixation beyond mortal tribulation.
Shelter the hues of heartstring tangling my lungs to yours, like a dripping umbrella soaking your left side.
Keep me close to your dominant hand, my dear.
Let us sip of melancholy and holy embrace forever more!
Please?
Nov 24, 2025
Nov 24, 2025 at 11:23 AM UTC
There is no darkness.
I mean this symbolically,
But also quite literally.
There is light
Constantly all around you,
Flowing through you.
Spectrums you can see,
Spectrums you don't.
But are you able to?
Jul 28, 2025
Jul 28, 2025 at 4:08 PM UTC
Rotting carcass on lover’s bed,
Gramophone hums the jazz of death.
Romantic candles cast shadows of tormented souls,
A whisper beckons, “Here we go down the rabbit hole.”
Cut into the flesh, take a bite —
Taste the blood of anguish, of spite.
This imperfect ritual extends till midnight,
Just me and her in the dying meadow of the moonlight.
Then I heard the vulture
Morbidly curious, ever so charming,
Wings stretching from heaven to hell,
Pecking at the dead, she laughs again.
“Would you like to hold my hands?” asked the vulture.
Love slips through one, while hate permeates the other.
“Hold them till death and be reborn as an undead.”
I comply, for I’m nothing but a love-drunk puppet.
Welcomed, fed, danced, and entertained,
All that’s left is to consummate upon her lonely bed.
Shrieking voice, hauntingly inviting,
Her wishes numb my knees until I’m kneeling.
The sound of a vulture, a symbol of rebirth —
Death is nigh, the voice whispers, “Lover, or deceiver?”
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 8:08 PM UTC
Think nothing of water which percolates,
Liquid evaporates.
Such are the forms trapped within themselves,
Meaningless rotes.
By formlessness corporeal,
But with materiality intangible.
Forlorn immolation;
Condensates re-saturate, only different.
Incongruent crystallization;
And they say there is change!
By factors invariant,
But with sums nonconstant.
A laugh is a laugh, verbalized or written -
It's still the same fundamentally.
Tears are tears, dribbled or scribbled -
It's still the same in essentiality.
By elements unproposed,
But with totalities nonexistent.
May 23, 2025
May 23, 2025 at 2:49 AM UTC
Temple of Artemis;
Steal the cheese,
But remember
It isn't free!
For Artemis is always hunting!
Hunger.
But who puts out the dairy?
Wisdom.
For the kid who doesn't
Feel the need to thieve.
For the outsider of the pack;
For who wanders back
Carrying foodstuffs
They foraged,
They collected.
This is a leader.
"For why did you not steal, coward?!"
"I am not cowardly."
"Not fit then, lackey!?"
"I can lift, I can run."
"Then what was it?"
"The others couldn't."
"Your kind then, eh?!
You're kind then, eh!?"
"I'm good
As long as 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥."
It is for the stranger of the temple
Who is no stranger to the temple!
One who cares for the altars, one & all.
May 22, 2025
May 22, 2025 at 7:28 PM UTC
On a cold November evening, she met herself
Her reflection was shivering; confident,
Her lips cold; her smile warm
On a cold November evening, she saw herself
Her eyes sparkled with humor in time with the gentle dance of the snow,
Each snowflake a waltz reflecting her mood
And she asked herself, how did you get here, me?
How did you escape your cage?
And she answered, oh darling, I never did.
The cage simply outgrew me, and the iron bars scraped my arms
I hurt myself no longer, but I still hurt
And yet it was all worth it, to see that look in your eyes
On a cold November evening, she walked away
Those iron bars so far from her hopeful face -
A cage so big she didn’t understand how she could ever leave
And yet the phantom pain on her arms was a promise
That this wasn’t forever.
May 4, 2025
May 4, 2025 at 8:18 PM UTC
Merely a ghost in the blue void,
flesh and blood kissed the lighthouse as
the silhouette of her beloved ship greeted her.
Yet stripped of his graze, she crumbled,
as guided by her vehement yearning and
cloaked in her gleam, he sailed closer,
but faded in the horizon forever.
Apr 28, 2025
Apr 28, 2025 at 1:15 PM UTC
You couldn't tell if I was crazy
If you were even any sane!
And you're not.
You couldn't tell if I was sane
If you weren't any crazier!
But you are!
Does it hurt your head to think?
Why, let it stop!
Does it hurt your chest to breathe?
Why, just quit it!
Soemone else can do that for you,
You can just take the credit!
For if the heart should ache
You're better off without it!
But serious-
The cloud tells the rain
What is & is not water.
Do the falling droplets care?
"What are these foreign definitions?"
The destination is the same,
Their own priorities remain,
And perspective is unchanged.
These strange properties,
Words themselves as elements
When strung together by sentence.
Is repentance within a reflection?
Redemption by sight through a drop of liquid?
What grippings within these pensions,
What potential within these tensions,
What whippings within these conventions.
By the accounts of every party attended,
What stern material has been cobbled.
Yet, poverty is worn stronger.
That which itself is as the weather,
I think it closer to trinkles
Than shine & twinkle.
What do the poor pour?
What do the bums toast?
What do the homeless shower?
A buddy of mine
Left really only notes.
Another was a rotten cheater.
I knew one that liked to play with guys,
Knew one that liked masks & needles.
Comes what? What goes? Who knows.
It can't be worse than before,
But that's not something you remember.
Of course, I mean, not someone you know.
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 1:49 AM UTC
Happy birthday- its what they'll say
With voices which typed words delay
Where on your behalf today, they'll wish
Simply for your happiness
A wish to me, is like the Horizon
An imaginary line of undefined potential,
Forever fading when approached.
With its endless opportunity preceding
the powerless thrill of pursuit-
Forever fading,
we approach.
When Happiness is fleeting
as all emotions are,
The golden light of this April's dawn-
Not silhouetted, scars.
Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 2:13 PM UTC
I store the tourmaline in the shade
of my heart, unbeknownst to it.
"What a sordid gemstone I am," it sighs—
if only it knew how I yearn for its light.
"I'm only prized for the lucre I bring,"
if only it knew I cherish its quiet gleam.
"There are finer stones than me," it mutters,
but to me, they are mere rocks in your shadow.
"People just lock me away in their boxes,"
but I’d carry you with me through every voyage.
"I’m scratched, worn — mishandled," it says.
But I would thread gold through every groove,
and call them the paths that led me to you.
Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 12:04 AM UTC
Oh, how cruel a tree appears!
Shedding the leaves that cooked its food,
Shedding the leaves that gave it shade,
Shedding the leaves that bore its name,
Shedding the leaves--parts of itself!
Yet with a gentle simper, the tree whispers:
“Oh my people,
I shed these leaves not in malice, but in need.
For only in letting go
can I survive
and see a brighter tomorrow.”
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 11:08 PM UTC
To be as The Moth, born to the dark.
A fleeting fragment, a flickering spark.
To live life alone and die by the flame.
To be its own shadow. To not have a name.
Guided by stars too distant to hold.
To exist as a soul, that exists all alone.
To run into hiding by dawn’s first light.
To be haunted by, and to haunt all in sight.
Each light forms a lust that burns like a vow.
A promise of warmth that its fate won’t allow.
With wings, so fragile, that are pinned to this fate,
Its destiny cursed like sins born into saints.
Not resting at night, nor waking in peace.
For the pulse of the glow, we know, doesn’t cease.
To be called to the light as it paints life black.
To be deemed punishable before any ill act.
Yet The Moth questions nothing, asks nothing in return.
Never questions its darkness, or why the light burns.
A creature that lives in desperation of the night.
A creature that dies by desperation for the light.
Its symbolism, carved in my endless pursuit.
My shape stitched into the seams of The Moth's truth.
A life chasing embers no matter fate’s cost.
To be as The Moth, to find only what's lost.
Just like The Moth, I was born to the dark.
A fragmented soul with a flickering spark.
To live life alone and die by the flame.
To be my own shadow. To forget my own name.
♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
Mar 30, 2025
Mar 30, 2025 at 10:35 PM UTC
If progress meant evolution
Which was the resurgence
Of a previous adaptation
Since dormant but readopted,
Would you deny it & shun it?
If after some period
The same was once again true
For this only recent change,
Would you embrace it & transform?
Willing to take flight,
Willing to cocoon?
Willing to immerse,
Willing to emerge?
By the same notion,
If the divergence required
Was new or exotic,
Would you welcome something extraordinary?
Would you accept & learn from your failures
And share in the fortune of your successes?
Would you help others to grow?
Will you sicken to septic & go toxic
Feeding from discarded wastes
As like ******* overgrowth?
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 5:41 AM UTC
It's a funhouse of smoke and mirrors,
Where the unnatural angles & fumes
Have clearly affected their proprietors.
It's an old-timey, ****** circus;
The performing artists are mismanaged
By ringleaders who may be animals.
It's a rigged boardwalk game;
The hoop's too small or pegs too thick,
Baskets too tight or ***** too corpulent.
You can hit it square on,
Swing the hammer with a force sufficient,
But the bell hasn't been ringing.
Grab a hotdog,
Order a slice,
Get your popcorn & crackerjacks,
Your cotton candy & cream iced.
That sugar is a rush,
Like laffy taffy freebased off of a fish which is Swedish.
Get in your distractions,
Cause I don't forsee you winning.
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 2:12 AM UTC