Poems

The Voicemail I Cannot DeleteTwelve seconds. That’s all.Twelve seconds of a throat clearing first,then the words—hey, call me back, I need to talk—the rehearsed unrehearsed of it,the way men speak when they’re about to saysomething too large for the mouth,something the throat cannot carryand the machine will only flatten. I never called him back.I watched […]

The Teeth’s Prayer Underneath my pillow, a secret laid bare,sharp and unfamiliar, a set too strange to wear.Each night they assemble, an eerie serenade,chattering in darkness, a macabre masquerade. They hummed a tune of shadows, a chant of ancient lore,I traced each sound in silence, deciphering the score.A litany so breathless, a prayer without a

The Therapist Keeps Nodding He leans back slow with his pen on pause,nods like a saint while ignoring my flaws.I say “I’m drowning,” he says “Go on,”while sketching my corpse with a perfect yawn. His glasses flash like a signal flare,but there’s nothing but fog and recycled air.He scribbles loops on his little chart,probably mapping

The Sovereignty of the Scorn I occupy a throne carved from the cold geometry of my own logicwhile the world outside is a messy soup of unrefined impulsesI am the architect of the high wall and the heavy gateobserving the common friction from a distance that feels like a clean bladeyou think you can inhabit

The Sweet Ache In the grip of self-imposed restraint,I trace the contours of a saint turned quaint.Edging on the precipice, but never leap,savoring the climb, steep so steep.Feral whispers in the crawl of night,I pant, I beg, in the mirror’s sight. Hours like centuries stretch under my skin,a marathon of desire, a symphony of sin.Each

The Smiling Man in the Intercom The intercom buzzes when no one calls,at hours too thin to exist at all.Just hiss at first, then something worse–a voice too calm, too sweetly rehearsed. He doesn’t ask for help or send a nurse,just says my name like it’s a curse.Then laughs like a wire pulled too tight,and

The Snooze Button ManifestoNine minutes — the interval I’ve certified as sacred territory,the catechism the morning hasn’t yet stripped from my hands. The alarm fires its grievance at the hour I set in bad faith,and I trade another round of ninefor one more brief postponement of the day. Four rounds in and the mathematics have

The Room Where They Forget You Exist There’s a hallway they don’t write down on the maps,where the bulbs hum secrets and the door knobs collapse.Where the staff walk past like it isn’t even there,and the cameras blink but never stare. I found the room when I stopped being loud,when I stopped asking why, and

The Screaming Girl Under the Bed Isn’t Me Anymore She used to scream so loud the plaster cracked,curled beneath the frame with her knuckles black.I’d hear her every night around half past three,clawing at the dark like it owed her a key. They said she wasn’t real, said I made her up,said the pills would

The Quiet One in Group Therapy He sits in the circle, back too straight,name tag blank, eyes like slate.Doesn’t flinch when the stories spill,just breathes real slow, then slower still. We take our turns with trembling shame,he never speaks. Never says his name.Just stares through us like he’s not quite real,like a memory someone forgot