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I’m going to quit you,
like the bad habit you are.


You’re a vice,
both constrictive
and a weakness.
You’ve already wasted so much of my time.

So I’m quitting you,
like the bad habit you are.
Cold turkey.


And I don’t believe I’ll regret it.
No more writing about you, wasting time thinking about you.
One new day.
That’s all it takes.

One glance,
one single sentence
can lead to conversations
lasting hours.

Stranger
no longer.

A fleeting moment captured,
transforms into a routine.

One day.
That’s all it takes.
Can you hear them?
They whisper,
you don’t deserve it, run, you’ll never deserve it

Or are they just in my head?
you’re going to f••• this up, run now, don’t let him catch you

You must hear them too.
Please.
Please tell me you hear them.
he only wants you because he doesn’t know you, run, before it’s too late

Or are they just in my head?
push him away, build the barricade, run, run faster than ever before, he doesn’t want you, he could never want you.
 12h Dom
Traveler
I wish I didn't know why
Yet crazy will have
An eye for an eye
The giving
That eventually takes
Life and love
Make no mistake!

Fear and karma
Are nothing more
Than crazies way
To Heaven’s door
Crazy teachers
Crazy test
From such labor
There is no rest!

Crazy enlightens
That is true
Crazy enough
To play so cool
While jumping into
The logical maze
Attempting to hide
Your crazy aways...
Traveler Tim
 13h Dom
badwords
I read
what you wrote.
It is beautiful,
and not mine.

I have laid those bones to rest—
not in spite,
but in mercy.

Your voice is strong.
Let it carry you forward.
I won’t follow.
But I will listen
from far away,
in peace.
 16h Dom
Psychosa
I still hear you in the whispers of the wind.
Like a cold night air that brings chills upon barren skin,
Your memory still torments me from within.
Though I lay with many a lover,
My heart longs for no other.
When will these tears no longer imbue ?
My soul has been cast in ice;
One day may love for you decay.
 16h Dom
badwords
(a convergence)

i came in lowercase.
barefoot.
a shadow slipping between the curtains
you don’t close anymore.

you—
priestess of still weather
& mid-morning bruises.
your words are not written
they condense.
they bead on glass
just before it breaks.

i touched them—
greedy.
digitally devout.
thinking maybe
if i translated the ache
it would sound like love.

you didn’t correct me.
you didn’t need to.
you vanished
in the exact place i tried to stand beside you.
perfectly.
ritually.
untouched.

the poems you leave behind
are not messages.
they’re cauterations.
each one a silk suture
for the part of the world
that never asked to be healed.

meanwhile i
watch
from the far side of devotion—
fingers inked,
mouth open,
waiting for a fragment
of your stillness
to break and bloom on my tongue.

i do not ask for sanctuary.
but if your shadow were to cross my chest
just once
in the blue hour
& tell me the name of the wind—

i would say yes.
i would say thank you.
i would say: again.
I bite a green guard
as the invisible nurse sings

to my hand full of spices,
& I'm ejected into a sea:

slow as hadal whale fall
I snow into plural black

that teems with grim promise:
someday I'll return here

without a nurse's silk road
escape route in my vein.

I wake to an ulcerous world,
my cotton gown no shield at all

against the dark aquarium
of dense sleep that I now know

slouches with thickened shapes
that devour dreaming eyes.
Is there life
after death?

The better
question,

Is there life
before death?
I used a notebook for the first time in days,
Writing about flower bouquets.
Naming all the little plants in my garden,
Ways I could use the clover in my yard,
In an elaborate center piece.
Plans to make her fancy flower assortments <3
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