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 Jun 19 Taru Marcellus
JDK
The spiral down.
The leaking of pocketed things
swirling above towards sunlight:
3D text of a spilled life.

What you did.
Who you loved.
The things you ate and the things that ate you up.

Awakening in reverse.
A return to the obscurity from which you were born.

The sea keeps no record,
marks nothing in stone,
but sings a eulogy for everyone ever lost to it
heard from any coast.
The sound of all the breaths they can't take any more of.
the moon is a whisper
on my bedroom wall,
she's ten times louder in my head

her name is a tide
it pulls,
it tugs,
it etches itself
on the inside of my eyelids.

every blink is a memory i didn't ask for
her laugh-
uninvited
but welcome
always

the bed is too big
for one body and this much longing
some nights
sleep forgets me
other nights
she replaces it
i hope she knows how much she makes me spiral, ive never wrote poetry. ever. this is new, because of her.

date wrote: 19/6/25
 Jun 19 Taru Marcellus
Dency
I have all this love
And nowhere to put it
It's rotting inside me
Soft,warm
Unspent.

I reach out in dreams
But wake up alone
His name buried in my throat
Like a secret
I was not allowed to say.

He didn't stay
But the love did
And now it grows wild
Inside a heart
With no one left
To give it to.
the soft light from
across
the room
cast a shadow
on half of you
and i thought to myself,
i am in love.
her ******* were
still swollen
from the child we lost,
a quiet weight between us
that neither of us could hold.

she smiled her sleepy
smile and said,
"i want this moment to last forever."

and i thought to myself,
i will be okay.
i said this with more
hope than honesty.

and honestly,
i gave up on hope
the day you aborted our child.

i lay there,
a hollow figure,
a man made of silence and waiting,
watching you carry a burden
i had no right to share.

my voice, a whisper trapped
behind fears I couldn’t overcome.
no place at the table,
no say in the body
that carried what was partly mine.

the room grew colder,
not from the night,
but from the space
between your heartbeat and mine.

i was powerless.
like a shadow on the wall,
there but unseen,
a ghost with no name,
no claim to the life
that never had a chance to be.

the loneliness was a quiet scream,
a thousand empty hands
reaching for something
that slipped through fingers
no matter how tight i clenched.

and still,
there was love,
fractured, fading,
a fragile echo
in the hollow of my chest.
love for the life
that'll never exist
that I'll never experience.

you drifted to sleep,
the soft rise and fall of your breath
a reminder i could not change
what had been taken from us.
what was taken from me..

and i whispered
to the empty room,
to the child i’d never hold—
i would’ve named you
after the quiet.
for the quiet that followed
 May 18 Taru Marcellus
Ciara
She is a butterfly...
hiding under sunspots.
He’s a gecko,
lurking in that velvet corner where the light forgets to go.

She is chaos—
he’s the eye of her storm.

They were born from deep sea vents,
rose up to the skies like they meant to crack open clouds,
pull humans into a frenzy
no weather pattern could predict.

She calls it life.
He? He just stares into death,
like it’s a familiar hallway with flickering lights.

The question of origin?
It’s always that stupid finger—
pointing,
blaming,
laughing at the moment they both thought:
"Wait… was any of it even real?"

Hey, ****.
It’s all tiny signals,
she read.

"It’s all eternity,"
he preached,
like a god with a broken clock.

They walked through each other’s ghost stories,
talked all night in a language made of
fake memories,
false starts,
and déjà vus shaped like abandoned houses.

They locked eyes—
those traitorous, trembling eyes—
and whispered vows
to nights that haven’t happened yet.
To days that only those **** aliens have seen.

Yeah. Those aliens.
The ones living on the edge
of the universe’s bubble,
eating popcorn,
watching this bubble bursting program
on cosmic cable.

And when the light consumed the darkness,
when the tiny capsules cracked open like old seeds—
they were left raw.
Naked.
Shivering in the gift-wrapped curse
called "Time."

She ran away.
He walked away.

Moments…
split.
Time…
parted.

While million-dollar math problems
sit unsolved on cluttered desks,
watched over by smoke-drenched visionaries
who know something’s wrong
but can’t solve heartbreak
with equations.

This is the program.
It’s always been the program.
We’re just signals,
wrapped in skin,
playing roles,
in a show
with no rehearsal
and no pause button.

So if you’re watching,
dear alien—
just know…

We improvised the whole **** thing.
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