Poems

Oil and Water We are a fucked-up science experiment–emulsions never meant to blend,I am chaos, a hurricane howling for touch, you’re the surface, always composed, on the mend.You slip from my grasp, a slick that shines, impenetrable, cold and smooth,But I crash against you, relentless, a storm that can’t soothe.Every kiss is friction, every sigh […]

No More Tears Once, I was a well overflowing–I bled emotion with the ease of a wound that never learned to clot,Love, pain, anger, grief–each with its season,Each with its own relentless plot.I used to weep for every loss, every goodbye,Felt the ache so deeply it swallowed the light,But now I stand in the ruins

Nowhere to Fall Emptiness is not a comfort, but a habit,The body sleeps alone, the mind recites old scripts,Every day is repetition, every night a theft,The bed remembers hands that left.He once craved a lover’s touch–now skin is foreign,A country mapped by scars and lines and stories,Each breath a pause between wanting and surrender,Desire packed

Need to FeelI learned to swallow the pain before I knew what it was trying to say,Love as an abstraction with no real weight in my hands.Cold was easier than the sting of truth left raw.Need to feel but I built my life around keeping that door locked. The lies we fed ourselves went down

Neighborhood Watch (and Other Myths) The sign in the yard declares a fantasy–block-wide vigilance etched in plastic and hope,But the truth is, the guy next door couldn’t spot a thief if he was mugged in daylight and choked with the neighborhood rope.It’s all one big performance, suburban camouflage–the illusion of order staked in the lawn,But

Netflix and Spill The night begins with promise, the click of the remote an uneasy truce–one more shot at comfort,A bowl of burnt popcorn between us, the scent of compromise, the taste of days we can’t quite recover.You say “Let’s Netflix and chill,” but nobody’s fooled–history rewinds itself the moment the opening credits roll,We’re always

Moonlight Rendezvous Midnight breathes across skin like a rumor and a dare, the world stripped of clarity, everything hidden behind the slow-motion shimmer of moonlight that turns even scars into silver. The world’s asleep, but we are wide-eyed in the hush, each movement deliberate, each touch an incantation. Behind every shadow is a secret, every

My Balls Hit the Water Another slow morning, slouched on cracked porcelain,The tile cold, the air indifferent, nothing but yesterday’s dust for company.Once, pride had a spine–stood tall, carved out a place in the world–Now gravity’s cruelest joke is written in flesh,Balls sagging into the bowl like a sad flag at half-mast,A quiet humiliation that

Maze of Thought Inside the skull’s old mansion, rooms collapse into corridors that never seem to end,Every door opening on the same blank question: what if, what then, what did I pretend?The thoughts do not march in order, nor obey; they wind and slither, coil and split,A thousand-headed snake, a party of strangers talking at

Minutes to MidnightA clock nailed to the wall like a threat, face cracked,hands inching with intent.The house is a wound, shadows pooling at the baseboards,every room swollen with the aftermath of laughter. Time seeps through fissures—not mercy, but exposure:youth circling back,voices thin as old film, brittle in the dark,every promise echoing, every betrayal sharper than