There’s a quiet heart upon the wall
that breaks the day in equal parts,
blind to the heavy tears that fall,
and careless of our weary hearts.
It treats a life like one quick breath,
counting the hours, cold and gray—
a gear that grinds away our breath,
where every second slips away.
And yet... time bends when passion burns,
and minutes stretch to touch the sky;
a single look, where longing turns,
can make a decade pass us by.
For all those weeks spent on routine
fade out like smoke in morning air,
while depth reclaims what life can mean,
and stays with us when we are there.
A clock measures duration, but depth counts time.
Breath grinds stone in the hollow chest,
time loops, cruel clockwork chewing marrow.
Each step refracts an endless cascade,
mirrors eating mirrors, swallowing meaning.
She watches herself dissolve, still walking,
hands trembling over undone buttons.
The walls bend inward, whispering static:
a language faceless, flat, unending.
Memory slits its own throat quietly,
bleeds until the air stinks of void.
Faces blur, cruel smudges framed in frost.
Fingers forget what they’ve once held.
The ceiling fractures, mercury spills night.
Dust coats the tongue, sour scripture of collapse.
Sanity laughs, teeth like shattered porcelain.
She screams and keeps on breathing.
Nothing stops. Nothing starts. Stillness spins.
Somewhere in the debris, she remains
a scream folded inside a name,
a self rusting softly in endless loop.
Breath grinds stone in the hollow chest,
time loops, cruel clockwork chewing marrow.
Each step refracts an endless cascade,
mirrors eating mirrors, swallowing meaning.
She watches herself dissolve, still walking,
hands trembling over undone buttons.
The walls bend inward, whispering static:
a language faceless, flat, unending.
"Echo without collapse"
Memory slits its own throat quietly,
bleeds until the air stinks of void.
Faces blur, cruel smudges framed in frost.
Fingers forget what they’ve once held.
"Echo without collapse"
The ceiling fractures, mercury spills night.
Dust coats the tongue, sour scripture of collapse.
Sanity laughs, teeth like shattered porcelain.
She screams and keeps on breathing.
Nothing stops. Nothing starts. Stillness spins.
Somewhere in the debris, she remains
a scream folded inside a name,
a self rusting softly in endless loop.
"Echo without collapse"
Every sin a stone, every dream denied,
A choir unheeded, its anthem mute.
Each vow shattered, a jagged weight inside,
Pain carried, pain dealt, endless tribute.
A choir unheeded, its anthem mute,
Promises fracture, their echoes wound.
Pain carried, pain dealt, endless tribute.
These burdens rise, a temple consumed.
Promises fracture, their echoes wound,
Each day in the mud, stone grinds to stone.
These burdens rise, a temple consumed,
An offering built where none atone.
Each day in the mud, stone grinds to stone.
Every sin a stone, every dream denied.
An offering built where none atone,
Each vow shattered, a jagged weight inside.
Upon the loam where ancient shadows creep,
a severed vein now yields its vital breath,
and writhes upon the floor in torments deep,
consumed within the iron jaws of death.
No gentle breeze attends its rapid fall,
nor sunlit grace to soothe the tearing pain;
It strikes the rotting moss and scarlet wall,
drenched in the fury of a weeping drain.
Yet watch the fiber twitch, the pulsing spine,
as blind-eyed beetles strip the tender skin,
and carve away the green with teeth malign,
to feast upon the fever locked within.
The forest laughs while slowly torn apart,
and grinds the winter's refuse in its heart.
a beautiful nymph descending from the heavenly skies
dispel the sadness that grinds the root of days
cheer me with your voice
and let your ankles squeeze the wine of the days to come
be for me the temple of the dancer
that writes in the dust the mystery of the days to come
and let your body be the wonderful minaret
that supports the call
be my throat that struggles to whisper
and prayers and whispers and curses
be the luminous foundation
that supports this vitiated life
The sleepy Scholar But Nature scoffs and
stirs the copper brew, flips the heavy board,
And writes a Thesis And draws the
born of midnight blue: Antithesis’s jagged sword!
A dogma shaped of The square becomes a
solid steel and stone, sphere, then melts away,
To sit upon a lonely, As midnight blue
paper-like throne. surrenders to the gray.
It claims the world is The thesis bleeds,
flat and fiercely square, the solid walls collide,
And builds a castle And nothing stays
out of thin, cold air. upon the proper side.
Now comes the Synthesis—a strange embrace,
A clockwork octopus in silk and lace.
It takes the dogma, grinds it to a paste,
And adds a rocket ship with frantic haste.
The Thesis and Antithesis both agree,
To drown together in a cup of tea.
Trespass on your square, and soon it grinds into a circle.
No edges left for thee— all smooth, round, and forever in denial. The solid square your feet once stood upon now spins beneath you, offering less purchase.
The light drops down behind the trees.
For over thirty years you feel the breeze.
Then the light rises from a distant horizon,
and you stand still, at last seeing what you are.
What became of careless, wasted dreams?
What became of youth before this freeze?
Now the mirror reflects a different man.
The eyes are darker the body carries itself another way than when you were young, innocent, and free.
Where are my seas of poetry
Yesterday visions splashed before me
dolphins danced beside my cabin
Today the tide rushed out, left me blind
Melancholy stains of coffee grinds
Flicks and rolls,
It works in a wondrous way
Though some wish it would not obey
as the brain slowly tolls.
I enjoy how the lines flow
like they’re sought in the sky afar,
and though they leave the soul ajar,
it pays off what I owe.
As it aches slow and decadent
and helps litter my anatomy,
this is not a regret to me
as my pains are now evident.
Controlled by will
and yet none to be found
therefore no need to ground
what can be perfectly still.
The joint is my lover,
ligaments let the blood flow,
hidden and more on show,
all will be worn and washed over.
I have worked myself young,
creeks, grinds with naivety
skint with offers for prosperity,
so my wrist is what i have brung.
Somewhere
Between the nascent light
and
Everlasting
Peace drifts motionless
Like the painless waves
Washing over us when
Neither sleep nor turgid
Strife possess our souls
my mind
Grinds into dust like the
Surface of Mars where
Darkness blinds
our
Worthy ambition in colors
not
yet
discovered
04/08/26
smiles drawn in red
joy sprinkled, jokes spread
no one left guilt-fed
road wide ahead
minutes pass with the wind
a dream with no end?
fictions created in the mind
an awful ache that grinds the mind
a fever dream she sees
she can feel the breeze
yet it causes her to freeze
held back by dark beliefs
from the dark she’s almost blind
till a violent flare of some kind
twists the signals in her mind
her fever dream refined
red, as in blood, is treading
stares burning, gossip spreading
the terror and guilt she’s dreading
is where she’s heading
with no brakes to stop her sledding
Hurl the applecart
of crimson corruption
deep into a vortex
that whirs remorseless
and grinds to carbon
the bellowing chaos
spewed by mortals
voracious for victims.
Dread not the tremors
and tumult of wraiths
clamoring with poison fangs
to devour the light.
The Devil insists
The Fall is Drafted
Suffering is Scripted—
as Seed
I declare the Seed a Fraud
yet still, I plant it deep
The Garden splits its Jaw
and swallows Autumn whole
The Flowers, Lord, are Feral
They bloom without my Grief
they bloom despite my Watching
Teeth in the soil—they mock
Beauty grinds its Machinery
without Permission
And I, a Cog unconsulted,
must grind in Silence
Days
move slower
Then an evaporating
Puddle
Watching clouds
float by
I look for
Meaning
In my
coffee grinds
thoughts
Fly
Like geese
Far from here
My feet
Forever magnetized
40.01 n
75.1 w
Time
for new
Coordinates
Sub Categories
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