Poems

Puddle Skies and Afterparty Halos [Wreath]The rain showed up late to the New Year, like that cousin who texts three hours after midnight asking if anything is still going on,Dragged its sleeves across the sidewalks, rinsed the glitter off parked cars, pulled the heat from cheap fireworks smoke until it felt like the air had […]

Punchlines That Never Heal [Wraith]April shows up smelling like wet pavement and cheap plastic confetti,That one dumb stretch of calendar where the world shrugs and agrees that lying is “just for fun” as long as everyone laughs pretty,Signs at the office saying “out of order” on bathrooms that still work, sugar swapped with salt, fake

Place Settings for the Quietly Deceased [Wraith]Winter hits the old house like an overdue bill, sliding under the doors, rattling the glass, reminding every board and nail that nothing outlasts the cold,In the kitchen the heat fights back with open oven doors and pots that breathe steam like small dragons chained to a chipped stove

Pocketful Of Almost [Wreath]The bar was trying too hard to look like hope, all paper hats and cheap champagne pyramids stacked like somebody’s idea of optimism on a budget,and the tables were graveyards of stemware and appetizer crumbs, confetti already welded to the sticky floor like it signed a lease and refused to leave it,and

Payday, Shredded In Tinsel Teeth [Wraith]The check clears at 12:01 a.m., a clean digital pulse through the veins of your account, a fragile little rise in the flat line that has been pretending to be a savings plan all year long,and for one holy, microscopic heartbeat you feel almost rich, staring at the glowing numbers

Pine Needles and Cinnamon Ghosts [Wreath]The first scent hits halfway up the stairwell, a sneaky little tug of pine sap, dish soap, and something sweet that has no patience for calendars or alarms,That mix of tree and sugar and faint burned edge that says someone turned the oven a notch too high and refused to

Pass the Torment, Hold the Grace [Wraith]Hell celebrates on a Thursday that never ends, a stuck calendar page glued to the furnace of forever where clocks melt and alarms keep ringing without moving a single hand,An endless dining room stretches off both ways, tablecloth scorched at the edges, chairs mismatched, all carved from bones and

Pastel Stains at the Treeline [Wraith]We went out there half awake in our thrift-store Sunday best, collars crooked, hair barely brushed, eyes still gritty from too little sleep and too much life hitting all at once like overdue mail,Jake drove us in his dying pickup, radio whispering static and half a hymn as we bumped

Parade of the Unremembered [Wraith]Hell throws a parade at sunrise, or whatever passes for morning down where clocks have quit and calendars just curl and smoke,The sky is the color of old bandages stretched tight over bone, and the marching band is a line of tanks with their barrels bent like a bad joke.Trumpets blare

Paper That Forgives [Wreath]New planner, fat as a promise, sprawls across the kitchen table with a smug little smirk in its spiral spine,Pages pale and untouched, smelling faintly of ink and cardboard hope, lined up like jurors ready to see if you’re lying this time.The cover creaks when you open it, stiff with that store-shelf