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Damocles 23h
In every bloom,
Pollinated happiness
Intoxicates me with colorful hallucinations
Brightening the shadows within.

Long have I, like a vampire
Dreamt of catching light, tho so denied
And amid this paradise,
I let the warmth of the morning sun comfort me.

Here among the emerald,
Verdant rows with pops of violet or orange,
A vibrant kaleidoscope of crimson and apricot
I am entranced, bewildered by ancient magics
Holding me like a newborn babe,
Swaddled within a blanket of leaves.

I am happiest in this retreat,
Rocking in my chair,
Sipping sweet tea as the flies compete
Racing for supremacy, spiraling for control.
While busy bees pollinate and buzz a little song for me.

I can hear the gentle lullabies of trees
As zephyr winds shake within the canopies
As light dazzles through the concave of leaves,
Bountiful essences, nature teaches healing,
Through a balm of wonder and make-believe.

Catch me among the wilds,
Wrap me up in serendipity,
Let me wave off the shade of reality,
Lingering obligations.

I don’t want to wake up in the dark clouds
When the morning star shines so bright
Illuminating life in all blissful reprisals
I’ll sing a reverie for the waking world
In a chorus crescendo with song birds at the melody.

In every bloom,
Pollinated happiness.
Let me hallucinate for a while,
Among the emerald and pops of gemstone blooms
Where inside hope springs ever more eternal.
Nature is my sanctuary.
abyss 1d
Maslow said we need food, safety, love
But he never mentioned
how easily hunger becomes sin

Greedy little thing
It’s never just about money,
or fame, or power—
It’s that ache deep inside,
the need for more,
for something real

Greedy little thing
For childhood memories I didn’t have
Insecure in the constant movement
Years-old boots, worn out
Around me —
latest shoes, new jackets

The grass is always greener on the other side,
isn’t it?
I couldn’t go out,
so I made a home in my head.

Greedy little thing
For the love that never found me —
the kind I watched
but never felt.
For the affection I never got
“I’m proud of you,” “good job” —
words I didn’t hear

At some point,
love became pain as well
A pretty bruise
Here and there

Greedy little thing
The grass is always greener —
where you’re not
I always thought lust was my biggest sin until I was journaling one night and tafa!

My take on the 7 deadly sins. I might do the rest at some point.
Somewhere in the vast expanse--
Where the stars escape,
And matter dances to their disco light shows,
Where do dreams go when the magic dies?

Endless breaths
Chasing the ceaseless,
Nothing here remains constant.

Here among an ever changing cast,
A character sheet, with a font unknown
Translates love into these bones,
Sacrificed for a life that was once meaningful.

Empty space,
Like a void in the heavens
A place where angel voices do not carry
I won't hear you if you try to reach me,
Over and out, something grips
I'm bleeding now, wound caused a chasm.

In silent gallows,
Loose lips sink these surly ships,
Let me find peace in depths
Swimming to find the endless.

All that we are, that could ever be
Remnants rooted from deadened things,
Dust from the ashes of light
And we desperately want to burn again
Embers of a great flame, never dying
Phoenix down pillows, I don't want to wake.

Somewhere in the vast expanse,
Dreaming in the endless,
Chasing destiny as destruction fills the void
Delirium overwhelms me like overgrowth
I'm covered in the emerald, flowering.

Desire burns, I become, what was--
Fire unburdened, a star rekindled
So matter can dance as I shine.

Don't you wake me from this,
Let me cast the characters,
And live at last as I should, one among the many.

Where do dreams go when the magic dies?
Here inside the mind a void calling to the endless.
Got to thinking about what makes us, us, and how do we fall into the great scheme of things in the vast universe? What governs our dreams, and desires?
Cushioned in the cracks till the sliver meets eye,
I am a witness,
To the spider and the fly on the table,
Taking sip after sip of a heated debate over a purpose.

Eye twitching to the sides of the walls towards a painting,
Definition in the curves of the decay,
Still aesthetic from the lines to the dripping frame,
A figure crying with a smile at the dust and the webs,
Left by the painter.

We gander on at the ghosts of an empty room,
Before the creeks from the floor stopped existing,
Before the whites and the browns of the walls turned grey,
Where the fireplace whistles a fable,
Of a light it produced even brighter,
Than the beams cutting holes in the ceiling.

If not for the rain, I could've sworn I heard the songs of the tapping,
From the infants that stabbed at the windows,
Similar to the pitch of where the door used to be,
I used to scurry to the cleft of the kitchen,
To see the gods drink the sins of the passing week,
Where they would dance against the sides of the counter tops,
Before the moss conquered most of the tiles,
Before the corrosion ate away at the sink.

The rooms I used to venture to were worlds I thought never existed,
A land made of cotton and fabric,
Where the bodies would lie upon for hours,
Voices echoed from inside of a plastic box,
And showed a story of the lives within them,
I'd always watched till the frame within turned black,
I used to itch for the morrow and the after,
I used to crave for the revelation,

I still remember.
The perspective of a rat in an abandoned house.
Settled cotton and boiling
rice in the ***
smooth of a brushed
& perfect object
which every gaze
will ever be caught
in a maze
of ever-buzzing insects.

Lit of blue flames pouring
of sick gasoline
Leaves the scorched an
over-cooked chow mein.

Light up this heretic
Light me up.

The rags smell filthy
as the rats are rancid
tucking into the poison
of  bones and teeth.

Remember when,
I asked to be a heretic?
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