Pt Poems - Poems about Pt

Swing Pt 2

he sits on a swing and mourn 'what could've been'
a little child inside a devil like him longs for a home
is it that he wish to run or return to same old place
he will forever be lost in the woods, searching for the end

his body turning cold and sweat running down the skin
heart on its

Swing Pt 1

a ghost of a child at the playground
swinging on a swing
laughing and having fun

a ghost of a child at the playground
swinging on a swing
he was never found at local cemetery

priests went out in search
exorcists did their performance
but the child was swinging on a swing

Hiding Pt 2

he hid himself in the closet
whenever he heard the footsteps in the hall
and when that man was in the room
he would stare through the open cracks

he knew it at the age when others were in playgrounds
the fear of a man who called himself his father
but nothing like one and only a tyrant
a monster who bullied

Hiding Pt 1

he locked the door of his room
closing all entrances, even the windows
to stop the monster in his dreams
roaming in hall from coming in,

he locked the door of his room
placed a chair and sat under the table
the sound of footsteps was getting loud
he just sat there talking to his toys

he locked the door of his room
he

On The Shelf, pt 2

“You’re welcome.”

The words ring through my head.
The words I knew were soon to come.
My eyes fill with dread.

I knew he would see through my lies.
I knew that he would talk to my father.
After countless cries,
	I seemed to not be bothered.

Nothing can stop me.
The sting makes me feel alive,
	It brings me back to reality.

I’ll talk to

Prolegomena Soliloquy - Pt 2

I have measured the math of a mustard seed,  
     traced the geometry of origin,  
     the angles of mercy,  
run fingers over the ridges of history  
     and found Him—  

in carbon’s conspiracy,  
  

Prolegomena Soliloquy - Pt 1

Tell me, my friend,  
does infinity not unsettle your reason,  
or is it a comfort—to believe it meaningless?  

Look beyond the rust of your disbelief—  
this isn’t the frostbitten dogma you imagine.  
This is the marrow of things,  
     the architecture of why.  

I

My Crooked heart PT III

My will to leave, my bliss,
For I searched for me.
I have seen me,
When no mirrors comfort it.
That voice, that plays with soul.
A place so cold,
But I hold to hope.

I’m tired of feeling so stiff,
My mind wanders like a thief who seeks.
Am I but a man lost indeed?
My childhood plagues my grief.
Wars within my thoughts,
My mind

My Crooked heart :PT II

But a linear crate,
You create your plate in days.
The seventh you lay,
For labor came to take its wage.
A circle, a grave we say—
Ohh, we are safe!

She lays in weight,
To maim and tame it seems.
Heavy to souls lost in hate,
Sorry, I meant to say in state.
Yes, the state of your mind in phases.
The clocks of ages,
Who

Literary Feud Among - Pt 2

Step Forward McCarthy vs. Hellman 

What is this The Digital Crucible of Truth?

On a stage of scrutiny,  
          titans c l a s h—  
McCarthy's words, a web of accusations  
S l i c e  
through an algorithmic landscape  
a viral

Literary Feud Among - Pt 1

Prelude to what…..

I see you,  /  you / yes, come into my…… 
laboratory of alchemist mystical languaging.
where arsenic spills into the whirlpool of thought 
and savage syntax shatter like glass on concrete.

Where Titans clash their pens
both spear and shield
signifier and signified in eternal dance.

What truths lie hidden in
the battle's tolling roll call.
Just what

Imag1ne pt 2

Well, I think I found them. Yes they may not look the same, and yes they may not have the same personality. But it’s not always just about that, that isn’t what I'm looking for. I’m looking for the same kind of soul that I can feel connect with mine. The kind of soul that

Imag1ne pt 1

Imagine waiting for something or maybe it’s someone. Someone you look for in everyone you pass by but not someone that is easy to find. Everytime you pass by these people you look at their feet first, see what kind of shoes they have on. Destroyed black sneakers that are stained darker with red. Then

Fairytale of Tears - the Journey Pt 4

Delusions,
The what if’s,
Can be some of the most joyous thoughts.

Fairytales,
The purest of fiction,
Can have the most meaningful messages.

My delusions are like fairytales,
For they have meaning in them,
They stop me from falling into despair,
By making me hope for the impossible.

Painting - The Journey Pt 3

Path of solitude,
Path of of loneliness,
A path for me.

Path of beauty,
Path of love,
The path I want.

I am the painter of my own path,
For I can decide what type it is.
I may not know my destination,
But I know how I’ll get there.

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