the word trust contains
its own form of corrosion
—a steadfast decay
Here I am.
Everywhere we were.
Capillaries fill with her,
rotting roots beneath trees,
feeding truth in buried leaves.
swimming
like lobotomized fish
in a psychiatric pond.
following to follow—
not following to lead.
following the leader,
following like sheep.
the pied piper
always made
such a fine shepherd
for those
who don’t
think.
Truth be told, or is it so,
Is strength bronze or tin?
Forever mystery lies so,
In this transcended kin.
Beneath the rust, a fragile heart,
Iron weeps, its strength apart.
A veil of secrets, shadows loom,
Where truth’s enigma finds its tomb.
In fragile echoes, whispers call,
Uncertainty befalls, thoughts of chanciness.
As ready minds begin to fall,
A second thought of unsureness.
Though some say it's peaceful,
A chilling draft, shadows impenetrable.
The touch, cold & luridful,
As if metal guards what’s unfalsifiable.
A muffled sound, a mournful hum,
As secrets whisper, what is keen.
For a darkened blanket casted,
Obscuring truth, a world unseen.
The taste bitter, how obscene,
Obscene in taste, even in earful mean.
I can feel it all burning down,
the walls I painted in soft colors,
the corners I swept clean for company—
they crackle in silence.
Instead of exploring other ruins,
chasing ghosts in forgotten places,
I should stop.
Sit with the dust in my own lungs.
Run my hands along the scorch marks
I never let cool.
There is wreckage here
I never named.
I’ve been walking through myself
like a stranger with no flashlight—
stepping over the memories,
ignoring the rot,
pretending I’m whole
because I never stopped moving.
But now,
the staircase from my heart to my head is collapsing—
each step a splinter,
each thought misfiring like sparks from frayed wires.
The chandelier has hit the floor.
Glass teeth scatter across the silence.
It used to shine.
It used to hold light.
Now even the ceiling
has given up on me.
Say goodbye to May, Don't stay on the warm way, Bay sun emits warmer ray, Hot day makes grass as hay, And even clay becomes decay.
she was like a delicate daisy
picked apart by her petals
the wounds inflicted
because she chose to settle
what she thought was good
made her colors fade
a vibrant bright white
turned brown
then grey
but as she disappeared into the ground
she planted a seed that began to sprout
a new growth was born
a new chapter
a new life
her petals reborn into that vibrant white
but now she knows what soil keeps her strong
and which hands are right
and which hands are wrong
she’s makes sure she grows roots that are deep
so she can’t be uprooted
and thrown off her feet
she blooms new petals each and everyday
the once delicate daisy
can no longer decay
I once loved
so fully,
I cracked open
beneath the weight
of someone
who now feels
like fog.
He was real—
once.
But time,
and the soft grind
of sorrow,
wore the shape
of him away.
Still,
my heart thumps,
a decrepit engine,
rattling on
with broken rhythm—
every beat
a memory
I wish I didn’t
still want.
I ache to return,
knowing the knives
that wait.
I am
a snake
coiled against fire,
slithering back
toward pain
with my eyes wide open.
Even in this
ruin,
something stirs—
a pulse,
a scent,
a breath of maybe.
And I,
battered
and trembling,
am not
gone
yet.
What would You do, O Father, tell,
If I should fade like fleeting mist?
Would heaven break, would heavens swell,
Or would my absence not exist?
Would You still paint the dawn with fire,
Though I no longer walk the day?
Would You keep faith when hopes expire,
Or let the light just slip away?
Would You still whisper my lost name,
When silence wraps my voice in stone?
Or leave me buried in the flame,
Alone, forgotten and unknown?
Would You still hold the earth so wide,
If none remained to see its face?
Would it dissolve, a drifting tide,
A dream dissolved without a place?
Would You still wait, with patient heart,
For one who’s vanished from Your sight?
Or fall apart and fall apart,
And sink into the endless night?
What are You when the prayers are done,
When holy walls begin to fall?
Does silence hide the holy One,
Or answer every broken call?
Or am I freed, by death’s embrace,
The spark that draws You close to me?
And if You fade with my last grace—
Did love exist? Or none to see?
As sunlight paints all in gold
A cresting wave
Along a distant bay
Gulls cry high into a clear sky
Its tyrannical son burns all away.
Summer has come
What beautiful decay
As evening dies on horizons blade
A splash of crimson
Deep in forgotten May
Amber n indigo lay lazy on the shores
Autumn lingers behind the day
What beautiful decay
A chill frosts the burnt ground
Ice is deep into tomorrow
Brittle leaves are death shroud
Broken branches reach
Winter’s shadows a frozen sound
What beautiful decay
volatile observation suspended amidst reality and fiction,
subdued voice echoes down a hallway of convictions;
like a despotic fog blurring options for a swarm of insects
who eventually finds way to a lizard's grotesque carcass.
a feeling, in my gravel ribs, this might be a dead end
staring up at the sky, an atheist's hollow vision;
air and venom flowing through wires of flesh,
tired abusive drunkards- returning home a mess.
my dear texts~"what if, it's nothingness which spirals into life?"
I am left in my bathtub with a glass of honey or wine,
and the last ray of optimism, living vicariously through my mind.
Look out for the flickering lights;
I heard some glass shattering
shards geting swallowed in the hurricane's tyranny
and tyranny pleading at patriarchy's feet.
Look out for the desparation;
penetrating out of familiar, rough gilded eyes
flowers wrapped in hands withering over time
and love swirling among the rusted frames
of oldest bus stand of town.
In a deep indigo night, bright
sliver moonlight shines across a barren land.
On a lonely hill, a manor stands…
its windowed eyes to a world blind.
Staring into the void, sublime
wind tumbles desolate sands.
Broken, old, dried skeletal branches sway
the last fleeting remains of a harsh day…
A figure bare in bones n thin pale skin
standing in the pouring rain.
The ancient station grand…
The rusted hulk of a train haunts
this arcane barren land.
Deep in the infinite indigo night, bright
sliver moon rays fall on bleak house
stands in a blind world with broken windows.
As eyes of a shadowy form watch
as windows call for the coming storm
old skeletal branches sway.
In the humid night
in a deep indigo night.
A lonely voice echoes…
This is your home address, you said
Seems like so many years ago
Now it’s a memory asset
We don’t live there anymore
The lawn has grown a bit too high
No one shall come to sweep the leaves
From the doorstep, and the sky
Hangs down low over the hills
Your flower beds are in decay
No one will care for the tree
The changes came, you went away
Too soon, left no address for me
We are weary of words, endlessly taken and tossed,
Singing day and night without ever being lost.
Like the clear moon in the sky, one thing clear:
“Fish always decay, starting from the head.”
A person who reaches their goal walks with purpose,
Thinks carefully before taking their course.
A child’s education and upbringing,
Is formed first and foremost in the family setting.
We’ve seen the rich fleeing across borders,
Carrying their wealth away by planes and orders.
To plunder the nation’s treasures they seek,
Is so much knowledge really what they need to peak?
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