Find me in the shadows
Cowering behind broken windows
Obsolete and useless
Like old Nintendos
Single celled amongst the minnows
Fear the stage, cancel shows
Tattered armor from the battles
When oh when
Will I get to chalk up my first win?
Who knows
I mean
Who knows?
Been trading blows
With good and evils
Gods and devil's
A perpetual looser revels
With a fat lip and broken nose
I lie about it so it still grows
As time slows
Behind a cold wind that blows
New highs
New lows
No,
Reoccurring lows
Kept on stepped on toes
A blade allows me to watch
Oxygen turn life from blue to red
As it flows
And drips off the edge
Of pointy elbows
Not caring where it goes
Never telling what it knows

©2025

next weeks the last
before the day she's gone
i think i may break
don't know how to go on

she had an extension
a few added weeks
we're almost out of time
i guess every relationship peaks

i won't hear her laugh
can't joke through the pain
can't talk to her daily
to hide from my brain

i think i may break

I don’t know what I should do.
I can’t manage to get beneath
All the layers of artifice
To finally find the genuine me.

Who is this wounded entity
Wearing the face of an actress
Stumbling across a dim-lit stage
Living her life for an audience.

Where can I go to find the answers
To all the questions that nag me
And why are there no real denouements
To all all the theatrical plots I live.

What soap can take off all the makeup
Applied so thickly with loving care;
And when it’s finally washed away
What kind of person will be standing there.
ljm

I dress for combat
because I want to be prepared for anything

I dress for combat
and remember the time when I was carefree

I dress for combat
though I know more than anyone that I'm way better at
hiding than fighting

I dress for combat
ignoring how strange I've been acting recently

I dress for combat
and love the way paranoia feels on my body

I dress for combat
because I don't know why,
but I just know it's going to come in handy one day

Psychedelic swirls in the womb of night,
The ghosts rise, hungry, for the sacred rite.
He touched her forehead, soft as a sigh,
Retracing memories where lost stars lie.

"You are misplaced," he murmured low,
"Led astray by the rivers' flow."
Her mind unravels, a fragile thread,
Dancing now with the living dead.

The violin weeps, it shatters the void,
A somber hymn both sharp and cloyed.
"Twirl for me," he said, "don’t fear the flame,
The watchers are here—they know your name."

The ghosts surround in a velvet trance,
Eyes like embers, they burn, they dance.
Their touch is smoke, their gaze a maze,
A fiery mirror of forgotten days.

Lost in the rhythm, the void in bloom,
Spinning through the door of doom.
She feels the pull of the stars' decay,
A psychedelic hymn to lead astray.

The night hums low, a growling beast,
Its jaws wide open for the soul’s feast.
He takes her hand—she feels the spark,
A haunting waltz through endless dark.

"Rise," they chant, "to the other side,
Lose your fear, let the moment abide."
The ghosts dissolve with the breaking dawn,
But their song lingers long after they’re gone.