Poems

Cracked Pastels and Hollow Hunts Out in the churchyard field behind the old brick chapel where the grass grows patchy and the stones lean like they’re tired of remembering names, the Sunday school crowd spills out with plastic baskets and squeals, chasing pastel bait tossed by adults who never notice how wrong the air feels, […]

Blue Screen Skies It was the kind of morning that made you question memory.The sky didn’t look wrong, just recompiled. Every pixel sharpened.No atmosphere. No distance. Just a flat, infinite blue–too clean to be natural, too symmetrical to be safe. People squinted at their reflections in car windows, noticing the lag between blink and mirror.Clouds

Blue Thread Where Skin Once Touched The sheets still fold to your shape when I turn in my sleep, like the ghost of your spine stitched deep in the cotton,and there’s lipstick on the pillow I won’t wash off, though the stain dried months ago, maybe longer, maybe never,and I talk out loud to the

Bleed Me Empty, Quietly Bathroom tiles cold against her spine,two pink lines ended the lie.She folds the silence into a scream,and drinks the pills she can’t redeem. He’s long gone, blocked and clear,said, “You knew the risk” in a text-shaped sneer.She told no one, not her mom,just clenched her jaw and played along. The cramps

Blue Bin Gospel Holiday’s over, floor looks like a cheap parade died in the living room light,paper mountains, plastic bows, candy wrappers glinting like they survived a war last night.Someone waves a trash bag open, like a mouth that wants to swallow everything we’ve done,I grab a cardboard box instead, say, “Let’s give all this

Apex Star over Hollow Holiday High above the cluttered living room where wrapping guts spill like intestines from torn boxes and the TV mutters an exhausted rerun into stale, sugared air, a star sits crooked on the fake pine needles, tilting like a drunk halo that never earned the right to be called holy in

Black Sugar Blues She came with whiskey on her lipstick, hellfire in her smile,said, “You ain’t my first mistake, but you’ll do for a while.”I drank her down like poison, sweet and slow and wrong,woke up cuffed to her shadow, where my conscience don’t belong. She don’t pray, she don’t beg, she just smirks and

Anxiety and Depression In a room where shadows creep, anxiety’s whispers never sleep,a heart that races, breath that’s tight, trapped within an endless night.Eyes that dart and thoughts that spin, drowning in the fears within,every moment a silent plea, seeking escape from misery. Depression wraps its cold embrace, stealing light from every space,a mind that’s

Another Empty Room Echoes softly bouncing, shadows holding tight,furniture abandoned, swallowed by the night.Photos face-down sadly, curtains drawn in shame,another empty room, whispering your name. Floors remember footsteps, creaking slow and deep,promises abandoned, secrets locked to keep.Quiet corners listening, whispers barely heard,every silence heavier than unspoken words. Tomorrow brings more silence, spaces filled with ache,rooms

A Mother Roams A mother roams with empty hands, her heart in pieces, barely stands,through the echoes of distant cries she calls his name beneath war-torn skies.Each step a prayer as hope defies the darkness that within her lies,her voice a whisper in the night, a desperate plea in fading light. In the chaos she