Pain creeped in with the early hours of the morning,
I was doubled over in pain.
As I was screaming,
my dad was wrapping me in a blanket.
Off to the hospital he sped,
then carrying me through the big doors.
My appendix was about to burst open,
emergency surgery was for me.
I've been feeling the critics lately,
They've been quiet but murmuring.
Miss Heart, from the trauma...
And the medicine I abandoned her for, through force.
Lady Liver and Dame Kidney,
Who I legally and knowingly abused for years.
Monarch Mind and her anxieties,
Who I didn't, nor couldn't keep from harm.
The critics... They're gathering .
Mrs Microbiome, married to my choices and unable to divorce.
Countess of Amygdala,
Begging her now, not to go to war again.
Her Highness, Queen Fascia...
Hardens again monthly to be broken free.
Sitting frustrated at dinner,
Their host is hard to be kind too these days.
The menu must evolve again,
It's critical to improve retention and reviews.
THE VOICE OF FIRE
A baseline thumps like a
heavy heart.
The midnight hour is about to
start.
Glenn steps up to the silver
mic.
Ready to strike like lightning
white.
The crowd grows still in the
smoky room.
A growl builds up deep in his
chest.
The Voice of Rock will give
his best.
THE MIDNIGHT CRY
He wails a tale of a black cat
moan.
A desperate sound of a man
alone.
The high notes pierce the
dark night air.
Full of passion, grit, and
prayer.
His fingers fly across the
strings.
With every breath, the venue
rings.
The blues are bleeding
through the sound.
Shaking the walls and the
velvet ground.
ECHOES OF THE BLUES
The song winds the down to a
whisper low.
The final embers start to
glow.
The Black cat fades into the
night.
Leaving the stage in the
morning light.
Dust motes dance in the
moonlight where the rotting
porch boards moan beneath
my feet.
Thick, silver cobwebs drape
like burial shrouds over the
rotting, abandoned foyer.
A sudden, frantic squeaking
echoes from the floorboards,
followed by the scuttle of a
hundred hungry spiders.
The decrepit house breathes,
its wall pulsing with the phantom
sounds of distant, agonizing yells.
I try to retreat, but the front door
slams shut, locking me inside the
suffocating darkness.
Invisible fingers brush against
my neck, and the temperature
drops to a freezing, unnatural chill.
The screaming starts then- a chorus
of tormented souls trapped forever
within the cursed timber.
I run up the spiraling staircase,
only to find the hallway crawling
with grotesque, shifting shadows.
The walls close in as a deafening
shriek shatters the silence, and the
house claims another victim.
Now I am just another spectral
noise in the dark, forever screaming
in the spider- infested void.
Cold floorboards groan beneath
the weight,
Of shadows trapped inside the gate.
The walls are bleeding memories
past,
In rooms where dying breaths were
cast.
A sudden chill, a phantom stride,
With nowhere left for you to hide.
The staircase creaks without a
foot,
And all your courage turns to soot.
The mirrors distort a twisted face,
That claims this dark, forsaken
place.
You hear the latch, you feel the
dread,
The house belongs to what is
dead.
I want to hear the possums screeching
Coming from the trees.
Their noise starts out as scratchy,
Then a terrifying scream.
The curdling of the blood they cause
Can send sane people fleeing.
The cold murderer in the bush
Is who they are seeing.
I know a possum when I hear it,
Trying not to panic.
I need to run now. Get away!
Or things could end up tragic.
Real-Life Demogorgons
Life felt like Hawkins—
quiet streets hiding screaming sirens.
Mind Flayers weren’t fiction anymore;
they learned my name.
I was lost like Will,
vanished between breaths,
woke up shivering
in an Upside Down crib—
air thin, walls breathing fear.
I walked on jagged glass,
barefoot in my own thoughts.
Locked inside my skull,
my body spasmed with truths unsaid.
My mind—flayed
not by monsters,
but by my own sins.
Arggh!
I wanted out.
The Demogorgon loomed—
faceless, black, relentless.
Should I speak this pain aloud,
or bury my life
in a pit of silence?
No—
I heard footsteps of the other me,
the one who survived.
Friends became flickering lights,
stringing hope through the dark,
showing me a path I couldn’t see alone.
I was found—
not dead,
but drowning
in endless shadows,
Eaten by real-life Demogorgons
with familiar faces:
fear, shame, loneliness.
Yet here I stand—
scarred, shaking, breathing—
proof that monsters are real,
but so is salvation.
I feel so much
yet show so little
the pounding in my chest
as i push it down
slowly
into that little jar
buried deep
into the pit of my stomach
day after day
i repeat
feel
push
forget
until one day
i push to hard
and forget how to feel at all
is this even real?
they say i have so much
friends
family
faith
hands always reaching
so why do i feel so unseen?
they call me weak
they call me dramatic
little do they know
my past was traumatic
and it still lives inside of me
no matter how many layers
i try to pull back
and peel
i can never find
what once was real
i scream
and i scream
and i scream
but nothing comes out
my screams are silent
i curl up
i shake
wanting to wake
wanting to feel
wanting to know
that i am real
Slice!
breathe
one
two
three
there
for a moment
i can finally feel
tell me
is this the only way
i remeber
that i am real?
scrambling scratchy screaming scribes
squeezing, squeaking, squawking,
swiftly sweetly swishing
swarthy swearing swimming
scrambling scratchy screaming scribes.
she SCREAMS intelligence /
each WORD a spark / each SENTENCE a blade /
her voice CUTS / the dull hum of the world /
not ANGER / CLARITY /
truth FORCED / into corners / where shadows LINGER /
a WELCOME escape /
a FRAGILE commanding WHISPER /
delivered / like a DARE //
HOPE rides / her RELEVANCE /
ALONE she SINGS /
music inside / my selfish UNCARING /
AS I AM / AS she WISHES /
FORGETTING what’s TAUGHT /
lost in HURRIED confusion //
a WAY OUT / of shadows /
I wandered INTO / by ACCIDENT /
her LIGHT casts / my own SHADOW / when NEEDED /
clear INSTRUCTIONS / discreet AS a heartbeat //
I would START it ALL over /
EVERY mistake / EVERY fall /
if it means / HEARING her SING / for the BROKEN /
HOPING it was ME /
who SPARKED her FIRE /
the CLOSEST we have /
to PROOF / that ANGELS EXIST //
Screaming into the void to drown out The voices my past
Screaming into the void to scare away the shadows that are cast
Screaming into the void to drive away
The pain
Screaming into the void but the demons
Still remain.
Screaming into the void out loud and in
My head
Screaming into the void just to stop me from feeling like im dead
Screaming into the void just to make me
Feel alive
By Screaming into the void I know that It
Will help me to survive
confusion slips into our beds
games the minds of gentle heads
twists familiars to never-beens
personas dark mask every scene
far away from hearth and home
on echoes' endless shouts I roam
in vain retrieve my former life
confusion wakes ~ a butcher knife
In a rather egotistical
and pathetic attempt
to immortalize myself,
in something I lost,
everything.
And now that I’ve burned
all of my bridges and I’m drowning,
the only thing I have left
to do is work.
And it's not working.
And the only ones
praising my work
are little kids,
the same age I was
when I broke everything.
Lucky me.
I watch them do
the same foolish things,
reaching for pointless dreams,
immortalizing themselves
for no one and nothing.
What I wouldn’t do
to have something,
and what I wouldn’t give
for something
worth saying.
Empty words
look prettier
when they’re
written in blood.
And trust me,
it’s dripping
straight out of
my pen tip
and into my lungs.
I wish that
instead of pneumonia
I had amnesia.
Maybe then,
I could forget about
all of this.
It feels like screaming underwater. Like I opened my chest, and handed you my lungs. You told me they weren't real. Like I am sitting in a room with the windows shut. Everyone smiling, nodding, laughing, while I am on fire, but nobody smells the smoke. I say what I think, and it echoes back distorted. It is like I spoke in a language that no one bothered to learn. I tried to explain. Sometimes they smile politely like I am a todler holding a broken stick and calling it art. Like I am being dramatic. Like I just need to calm down. It is not about being loud. It is not about being right. It is about being seen. It is about knowing that someone, just one person, gets it. When no one agrees, it is not just disagreement. It is isolation. It is them building a fence between us. Pretending I am choosing to stand on the other side. I did not choose this. I am just here. Holding my truth in both hands like it is fragile, and ugly, and honest. Watching everyone pretend it does not matter.
I woke up one morning,
To the barren of trees.
The sky was blue,
yet the silence screamed.
What was it that made winters so dry?
So cold, so blue, so lost of life.
The snow burried dead beneath,
The trees cried their leaves away,
The birds hiding in fear from the rest,
The world only led astray.
Who was it who brought life after this death?
Who was it who brought spring after winters birth?
Let them all die and die in silence.
Let them all slide and slip away from violence.
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