Poems

The Patina of Lies Listen closely, for what I’m about to unravel is not just a story—it’s a descent into the layers of deception that have long festered within the walls of my family’s home. My name is Eleanor March, and I’ve always been haunted by the weight of my lineage, a burden passed down […]

Tech support therapy, what a twisted hustle, By the end of the call, you’re never the same. But hang up now, there’s no way out, You’re trapped in this tech-induced bout.

Suburban nightmare, trapped in the dream, Everything’s perfect, or so it seems. But underneath, it’s all a mess, Keeping up with the Joneses, what a stress.

Tech support therapy, a modern-day curse, Your sanity’s slipping, it’s getting worse. But keep on the line, don’t lose your cool, They’ve got you trapped in this technological duel.

So put down that catalog, let the envy slide, Cause in the end, it’s just another ride. The Joneses aren’t happy, they’re just as lost, So why play the hustle at such a cost?

Soul’s canvas Soul’s Canvas Unravel the threads, strip away the mask, Lay bare the chaos, the jagged beauty, the scars. Your soul’s abstract maps twist with raw intent, Each line etched in blood and fire, a life unbent. In the maze of your own making, tread deep, No surface is safe, no corner left to

Suburban nightmare, the dream’s gone cold, We’re all just stories, left untold. But I’ll break free, find my way, From this suburban life, I’ll stray.

Sipping on potential Sipping on Potential The morning light breaks, a silent herald of renewal, Casting gold across a weary world still heavy with dreams. Steam curls upward, a wraith of promises, fleeting and sensual, Each swirl a hymn to beginnings, to schemes unseen. In the depths of the cup lies a map of ambitions

So here i stand, with time on my side, So here I stand, with time on my side, But still, I wonder if I’ve lived a lie. The lines on my hands tell the story of me, But I’m still searching for who I should be. A heart full of doubt, a soul full of

Rusted Dreams The story I’m about to share with you is woven from the threads of an unsettling encounter with the past. My name is Victor Gray, and what follows is a tale of an old, rusted bed frame that held the key to a dream world—one that revealed a tragic history hidden deep within