82 poems. The death card. Playing the hand you are dealt.
Poems
82 poems in this collection
2Jackpot▾
Song 2″Jackpot”
Jackpot
Hit the jackpot, in your fuckin’ eyes,
Love’s a gamble, no surprise.
Roll the dice, take the spin,
Fuckin’ high, let’s begin.
You’re the prize, in this wild game,
Fuckin’ hot, callin’ my name.
Jackpot hit, in this lustful night,
Fuckin’ hard, feels so right.
Jackpot, fuckin’ high stakes,
Love’s wild game, till it breaks.
Roll the dice, win or lose,
Fuckin’ jackpot, what we choose.
You’re the prize, in this wild game,
Fuckin’ hot, callin’ my name.
Jackpot hit, in this lustful night,
Fuckin’ hard, feels so right.
In the lights, of this sinful place,
Fuckin’ wild, in your embrace.
Jackpot hit, hearts collide,
Fuckin’ lust, can’t hide.
You’re the prize, in this wild game,
Fuckin’ hot, callin’ my name.
Jackpot hit, in this lustful night,
Fuckin’ hard, feels so right.
Win or lose, we fuckin’ play,
In this game, night and day.
Jackpot hit, in love’s fire,
Fuckin’ high, wild desire.
Jackpot
Hit the jackpot, in your fuckin’ eyes,
Love’s a gamble, no surprise.
Roll the dice, take the spin,
Fuckin’ high, let’s begin.
You’re the prize, in this wild game,
Fuckin’ hot, callin’ my name.
Jackpot hit, in this lustful night,
Fuckin’ hard, feels so right.
Jackpot, fuckin’ high stakes,
Love’s wild game, till it breaks.
Roll the dice, win or lose,
Fuckin’ jackpot, what we choose.
You’re the prize, in this wild game,
Fuckin’ hot, callin’ my name.
Jackpot hit, in this lustful night,
Fuckin’ hard, feels so right.
In the lights, of this sinful place,
Fuckin’ wild, in your embrace.
Jackpot hit, hearts collide,
Fuckin’ lust, can’t hide.
You’re the prize, in this wild game,
Fuckin’ hot, callin’ my name.
Jackpot hit, in this lustful night,
Fuckin’ hard, feels so right.
Win or lose, we fuckin’ play,
In this game, night and day.
Jackpot hit, in love’s fire,
Fuckin’ high, wild desire.
All That Fell in Mexico City▾
Title: All That Fell in Mexico City
Verse 1Classrooms shook apart at morning, walls collapsing in a sigh,Chalk dust swirling with the sunlight, screams beneath a shattered sky.
Small hands grasped for open air, desks and crayons swept aside,Blackboards snapped and ceilings vanished, teachers counting every child.
Towers leaned and streets convulsed, the churches wept with groaning stone,Parents sprinted, barefoot, broken, hoping—please, don’t be alone.
Desks and lunchboxes buried deep, ribbons tangled in the mess,A mother’s name called through the chaos, prayers pressed tight against her chest.
Verse 2Sirens wailed through muddy alleys, fathers dug with bloodied hands,Neighbors passed the buckets forward, concrete choking up the land.
Hope ran thin as radio static, every hour stretched to bone,Rain and sweat in every crevice, no one grieving here alone.
Shoes and ribbons, little fingers, faces streaked in concrete ash,Photographs found torn and ruined, birthdays vanished in a flash.
Night descended—candles guttered, names recited, hope on edge,Old abuelas stroked their crosses, whispered blessings for the dead.
ChorusStreets are split and hearts are splintered,Blocks collapse and bodies bend,Banners wave and churches tremble—No one knows where this will end.
Walls give way, the earth remembers,Children’s voices, parents’ cries,Mexico City wakes to silence—Dust and daylight, no disguise.
Verse 3Steel and brick laid bare to judgement, secrets written in the cracks,Cheap cement and corner-cutting, hopes betrayed and never backed.
No polished men with pious phrases, no relief behind the glass,Just a city counting losses, sifting memories from the past.
Firemen find a battered backpack, little shoes and tiny hands,Fathers holding onto rubble, swearing softly where they stand.
Some are pulled from dust and darkness, blinking hard against the sun,Others left beneath the classroom, dreams and futures come undone.
BridgeCandles flicker on the pavement, petals scattered in the rain,Ribbons knotted to the fences, every color holds a name.A city learns the shape of mourning,Every shadow carved with grief,Hands that hold a neighbor’s shoulder,Broken hearts that seek relief.
ChorusStreets are split and hearts are splintered,Blocks collapse and bodies bend,Banners wave and churches tremble—No one knows where this will end.
Walls give way, the earth remembers,Children’s voices, parents’ cries,Mexico City wakes to silence—Dust and daylight, no disguise.
OutroSunrise stains the ruined city, dust still clings to every door,Shadows long and pain unspoken, names remembered evermore.
Children lost and mothers kneeling, fathers silent in the rain,Mexico holds the fallen closely—Memory stronger than the pain.
Verse 1Classrooms shook apart at morning, walls collapsing in a sigh,Chalk dust swirling with the sunlight, screams beneath a shattered sky.
Small hands grasped for open air, desks and crayons swept aside,Blackboards snapped and ceilings vanished, teachers counting every child.
Towers leaned and streets convulsed, the churches wept with groaning stone,Parents sprinted, barefoot, broken, hoping—please, don’t be alone.
Desks and lunchboxes buried deep, ribbons tangled in the mess,A mother’s name called through the chaos, prayers pressed tight against her chest.
Verse 2Sirens wailed through muddy alleys, fathers dug with bloodied hands,Neighbors passed the buckets forward, concrete choking up the land.
Hope ran thin as radio static, every hour stretched to bone,Rain and sweat in every crevice, no one grieving here alone.
Shoes and ribbons, little fingers, faces streaked in concrete ash,Photographs found torn and ruined, birthdays vanished in a flash.
Night descended—candles guttered, names recited, hope on edge,Old abuelas stroked their crosses, whispered blessings for the dead.
ChorusStreets are split and hearts are splintered,Blocks collapse and bodies bend,Banners wave and churches tremble—No one knows where this will end.
Walls give way, the earth remembers,Children’s voices, parents’ cries,Mexico City wakes to silence—Dust and daylight, no disguise.
Verse 3Steel and brick laid bare to judgement, secrets written in the cracks,Cheap cement and corner-cutting, hopes betrayed and never backed.
No polished men with pious phrases, no relief behind the glass,Just a city counting losses, sifting memories from the past.
Firemen find a battered backpack, little shoes and tiny hands,Fathers holding onto rubble, swearing softly where they stand.
Some are pulled from dust and darkness, blinking hard against the sun,Others left beneath the classroom, dreams and futures come undone.
BridgeCandles flicker on the pavement, petals scattered in the rain,Ribbons knotted to the fences, every color holds a name.A city learns the shape of mourning,Every shadow carved with grief,Hands that hold a neighbor’s shoulder,Broken hearts that seek relief.
ChorusStreets are split and hearts are splintered,Blocks collapse and bodies bend,Banners wave and churches tremble—No one knows where this will end.
Walls give way, the earth remembers,Children’s voices, parents’ cries,Mexico City wakes to silence—Dust and daylight, no disguise.
OutroSunrise stains the ruined city, dust still clings to every door,Shadows long and pain unspoken, names remembered evermore.
Children lost and mothers kneeling, fathers silent in the rain,Mexico holds the fallen closely—Memory stronger than the pain.
All the Speed in Their Veins▾
All the Speed in Their Veins
I’ve seen the way the world sprints past, its heels grinding gravel into dust,
How every day the sun hauls itself up, clawing gold across their perfect skin,
And I’m left standing still in a puddle of my own goddamn shadow,
Glued to this pch of reality while everyone else has already made it three streets ahead,
Their laughter ricochets in the wind, some anthem for the beautiful, the reckless, the obsessed—
While my lungs twist up in barbed wire and my feet are made of dread.
I swallow down every morning’s stale hope, watch the emails, the calls, the need,
My dreams drag behind me like shredded banners on the edge of a ruined parade,
I’m choking on their victory speeches, their sun-bleached grins—
They’ve already mapped the heavens with their resumes and Instagram sins,
And my hands are empty, stripped down to bone, clutching nothing but unstarted things,
I keep rewriting to-do lists on paper that tears just from the ink.
They tell you to hustle, grind, never sleep—
But no one mentions how it feels when the world forgets you the starting line,
Or how shame rides shotgun, cold and sharp, as you pretend to care about their stories,
While your story sits in a locked drawer somewhere between regret and decline,
You nod and play along, as if you’re part of this sprint,
But inside you’re unraveling, every step heavier, every smile counterfeit.
I watch them leap, like wolves over fences, chasing the bloody scent of “more”,
While I count brehs in a waiting room, clock hands slicing away what I could’ve been,
Every finish line looks further away the closer I crawl,
And their cheers sound like unchanging, their applause just another language I never learned,
Sometimes I wish I could he them, envy burns hotter than love when you’re stuck in the rearview,
But all I have is this ache and the slow, stubborn pulse that keeps me moving even as I lose.
I watch the calendar fill with their milestones, see the lights on their party cakes—
I tell myself it’s fine to lag behind, that slow isn’t broken, it’s just mine,
But the night drips acid in my ear, whispering titles for failure that I can’t outrun,
And every morning, I still show up—barely, broken, late, still brehing,
In a world that doesn’t wait for anyone not already running,
And I wonder if there’s any finish line for people like me
Or if we just keep walking—alone, out of breath,
Dragging these dreams behind us through mud, through loss,
Holding on until the last runner turns out the lights,
And the world forgets the slow ones ever tried.
—
Ccontinue with song
I’ve seen the way the world sprints past, its heels grinding gravel into dust,
How every day the sun hauls itself up, clawing gold across their perfect skin,
And I’m left standing still in a puddle of my own goddamn shadow,
Glued to this pch of reality while everyone else has already made it three streets ahead,
Their laughter ricochets in the wind, some anthem for the beautiful, the reckless, the obsessed—
While my lungs twist up in barbed wire and my feet are made of dread.
I swallow down every morning’s stale hope, watch the emails, the calls, the need,
My dreams drag behind me like shredded banners on the edge of a ruined parade,
I’m choking on their victory speeches, their sun-bleached grins—
They’ve already mapped the heavens with their resumes and Instagram sins,
And my hands are empty, stripped down to bone, clutching nothing but unstarted things,
I keep rewriting to-do lists on paper that tears just from the ink.
They tell you to hustle, grind, never sleep—
But no one mentions how it feels when the world forgets you the starting line,
Or how shame rides shotgun, cold and sharp, as you pretend to care about their stories,
While your story sits in a locked drawer somewhere between regret and decline,
You nod and play along, as if you’re part of this sprint,
But inside you’re unraveling, every step heavier, every smile counterfeit.
I watch them leap, like wolves over fences, chasing the bloody scent of “more”,
While I count brehs in a waiting room, clock hands slicing away what I could’ve been,
Every finish line looks further away the closer I crawl,
And their cheers sound like unchanging, their applause just another language I never learned,
Sometimes I wish I could he them, envy burns hotter than love when you’re stuck in the rearview,
But all I have is this ache and the slow, stubborn pulse that keeps me moving even as I lose.
I watch the calendar fill with their milestones, see the lights on their party cakes—
I tell myself it’s fine to lag behind, that slow isn’t broken, it’s just mine,
But the night drips acid in my ear, whispering titles for failure that I can’t outrun,
And every morning, I still show up—barely, broken, late, still brehing,
In a world that doesn’t wait for anyone not already running,
And I wonder if there’s any finish line for people like me
Or if we just keep walking—alone, out of breath,
Dragging these dreams behind us through mud, through loss,
Holding on until the last runner turns out the lights,
And the world forgets the slow ones ever tried.
—
Ccontinue with song
Beacon of the Damned▾
Beacon of the Damned
Tower of ghosts, whispering cold, waves gnaw the bones of the stories it holds,
Storms have stripped its light away, left it blind where the lost ones lay,
Rust-worn stairs wind tight like veins, spirals sinking into pain,
Footsteps echo, no one’s there—just the wind with a hollow stare.
Windows cracked like shattered teeth, salt-soaked wood still sings beneath,
Tide pulls bodies from the deep, limbs like prayers the dark won’t keep,
Names erased by time’s cruel hands, drowning souls in shifting sands,
Every ship that met this fate—left its name at the mercy gate.
Signal flares that never burned, pages filled but never turned,
Lanterns swinging, lost in time, calling out but left behind,
If I scream, will silence crack? Or does the void just echo back?
Nothing here but what decays—ghosts don’t leave, they just obey.
Glass eyes stare from the tower’s face, stitched in place by the storm’s embrace,
Fingers grip the iron rails, dripping cold with old betrayals,
Keeper gone but still remains, watching ships dissolve in rain,
Drenched in echoes, dripping fate, whispering prayers too late.
Signal flares that never burned, pages filled but never turned,
Lanterns swinging, lost in time, calling out but left behind,
If I scream, will silence crack? Or does the void just echo back?
Nothing here but what decays—ghosts don’t leave, they just obey.
The tide is high, the walls will break, salt will carve what time won’t take,
Every shadow left to roam, every wave still pulling home,
Something waits where none remain, calling out a dead man’s name,
The light is gone, the dark remains, every soul here dies the same.
Signal flares that never burned, pages filled but never turned,
Lanterns swinging, lost in time, calling out but left behind,
If I scream, will silence crack? Or does the void just echo back?
Nothing here but what decays—ghosts don’t leave, they just obey.
Tower of ghosts, whispering cold, waves gnaw the bones of the stories it holds,
Storms have stripped its light away, left it blind where the lost ones lay,
Rust-worn stairs wind tight like veins, spirals sinking into pain,
Footsteps echo, no one’s there—just the wind with a hollow stare.
Windows cracked like shattered teeth, salt-soaked wood still sings beneath,
Tide pulls bodies from the deep, limbs like prayers the dark won’t keep,
Names erased by time’s cruel hands, drowning souls in shifting sands,
Every ship that met this fate—left its name at the mercy gate.
Signal flares that never burned, pages filled but never turned,
Lanterns swinging, lost in time, calling out but left behind,
If I scream, will silence crack? Or does the void just echo back?
Nothing here but what decays—ghosts don’t leave, they just obey.
Glass eyes stare from the tower’s face, stitched in place by the storm’s embrace,
Fingers grip the iron rails, dripping cold with old betrayals,
Keeper gone but still remains, watching ships dissolve in rain,
Drenched in echoes, dripping fate, whispering prayers too late.
Signal flares that never burned, pages filled but never turned,
Lanterns swinging, lost in time, calling out but left behind,
If I scream, will silence crack? Or does the void just echo back?
Nothing here but what decays—ghosts don’t leave, they just obey.
The tide is high, the walls will break, salt will carve what time won’t take,
Every shadow left to roam, every wave still pulling home,
Something waits where none remain, calling out a dead man’s name,
The light is gone, the dark remains, every soul here dies the same.
Signal flares that never burned, pages filled but never turned,
Lanterns swinging, lost in time, calling out but left behind,
If I scream, will silence crack? Or does the void just echo back?
Nothing here but what decays—ghosts don’t leave, they just obey.
Blood for the Top▾
Blood for the Top
Raised on rot and fed on pride
Learned to kiss the ring and hide the knife inside
He was bred to rule, not built to feel
Signed his soul in war-torn steel
Burned the books that dared to teach
Cut out tongues that tried to preach
Called it order, called it peace
But the graveyard grew with every speech
Blood for the top, lies for the throne
No one rules alone—they just sit on bone
March ‘til your boots wear down to skin
If he can’t win, heat’ll burn wh’s left within
Cities gasping under flags he waved
Promises carved on the backs of slaves
They begged for bread, he gave them brass
Called it freedom, wched it pass
And when the mirror cracked from grin to grave
He toped himself in the ash he made
Said “Kings don’t bleed, they brand the sky”
And turned the world to a battle cry
Blood for the top, screams for the feast
Made a god of the worst, killed off the at at least
He won’t stop ‘til the stars fall down
Long live the bastard wearing the top.
312 next —Gothic, dark humor, haunted or horror-based. Think Amityville meets sarcasm.
Raised on rot and fed on pride
Learned to kiss the ring and hide the knife inside
He was bred to rule, not built to feel
Signed his soul in war-torn steel
Burned the books that dared to teach
Cut out tongues that tried to preach
Called it order, called it peace
But the graveyard grew with every speech
Blood for the top, lies for the throne
No one rules alone—they just sit on bone
March ‘til your boots wear down to skin
If he can’t win, heat’ll burn wh’s left within
Cities gasping under flags he waved
Promises carved on the backs of slaves
They begged for bread, he gave them brass
Called it freedom, wched it pass
And when the mirror cracked from grin to grave
He toped himself in the ash he made
Said “Kings don’t bleed, they brand the sky”
And turned the world to a battle cry
Blood for the top, screams for the feast
Made a god of the worst, killed off the at at least
He won’t stop ‘til the stars fall down
Long live the bastard wearing the top.
312 next —Gothic, dark humor, haunted or horror-based. Think Amityville meets sarcasm.
Bulletproof Dreams▾
Bulletproof Dreams
Spray-paint philosophies beneath bridges and tracks
Jeans worn through, carrying truths on our backs
Their whispers can’t silence the shouting within
Every scar proof of battles we’ll fight till we win
Bulletproof dreams, defiant screams, voices echo loud
Unbreakable hearts, we tear apart the lies they’re selling now
Dodging lies like bullets, moving fast as we can
Bulletproof dreams in a world we can’t stand
We learned early lessons in alleys and streets
Heroes born from bruises, victories born from defes
Ttooed revolutions etched under our skin
Each mark a declaration, rebellion within
Fight until we falter, but never giving in
We’ve fallen down, got back up, scraped knees and bloody chins
Every bruise a badge, every scar our proof
Dreams aren’t made of glass, these dreams are bulletproof
Relable Ballads
Spray-paint philosophies beneath bridges and tracks
Jeans worn through, carrying truths on our backs
Their whispers can’t silence the shouting within
Every scar proof of battles we’ll fight till we win
Bulletproof dreams, defiant screams, voices echo loud
Unbreakable hearts, we tear apart the lies they’re selling now
Dodging lies like bullets, moving fast as we can
Bulletproof dreams in a world we can’t stand
We learned early lessons in alleys and streets
Heroes born from bruises, victories born from defes
Ttooed revolutions etched under our skin
Each mark a declaration, rebellion within
Fight until we falter, but never giving in
We’ve fallen down, got back up, scraped knees and bloody chins
Every bruise a badge, every scar our proof
Dreams aren’t made of glass, these dreams are bulletproof
Relable Ballads
Bulletproof Prayers▾
Lock the doors, lights down low,
Feet on the floor, but nowhere to go,
Silence screams, every breath a weight,
Counting seconds while the world just waits.
Another headline, another name,
Another shooter, another game,
Nobody moves, nobody speaks,
Just waiting for fate to pick who bleeds.
Bulletproof prayers don’t stop the sound,
Metal and fear still hit the ground.
We hide, we hope, we beg, we break,
But the barrel doesn’t bend when its set to take.
Empty halls, echoes shake,
Footsteps drag like a twisted fate,
Fire in his hands, cold in his veins,
A walking ghost with a mind in flames.
Screens will flash, the stories spin,
Politicians swear it won’t happen again,
But the chalk outlines keep coming back,
And the blood dries fast where the headlines lack.
Bulletproof prayers don’t stop the sound,
Metal and fear still hit the ground.
We hide, we hope, we beg, we break,
But the barrel doesn’t bend when its set to take.
Lock the doors, stay real still,
Close your eyes if youve got the will,
If the world won’t stop, if the hands won’t change,
Then whos left standing when they call your name?
Feet on the floor, but nowhere to go,
Silence screams, every breath a weight,
Counting seconds while the world just waits.
Another headline, another name,
Another shooter, another game,
Nobody moves, nobody speaks,
Just waiting for fate to pick who bleeds.
Bulletproof prayers don’t stop the sound,
Metal and fear still hit the ground.
We hide, we hope, we beg, we break,
But the barrel doesn’t bend when its set to take.
Empty halls, echoes shake,
Footsteps drag like a twisted fate,
Fire in his hands, cold in his veins,
A walking ghost with a mind in flames.
Screens will flash, the stories spin,
Politicians swear it won’t happen again,
But the chalk outlines keep coming back,
And the blood dries fast where the headlines lack.
Bulletproof prayers don’t stop the sound,
Metal and fear still hit the ground.
We hide, we hope, we beg, we break,
But the barrel doesn’t bend when its set to take.
Lock the doors, stay real still,
Close your eyes if youve got the will,
If the world won’t stop, if the hands won’t change,
Then whos left standing when they call your name?
Burn the Crossroads▾
Burn the Crossroads
She lit a cigarette off the altar flame, grinning like sin in a Sunday dress
Tied her sins in a braid with teeth, muttered “God can clean up this mess”
She walked like thunder with a scar for each vow, baptized in gasoline
Said, “I pissed on the rules, let the devil preen”
Crossroads cracked beneath her boots, something ancient howled below
Baptists locked their doors, but she already fucked their ghosts in the snow
She carved a title they won’t pronounce into the steeple wall
And laughed as the stained glass started to crawl
Burn the crossroads, let the preacher choke
There’s fire in her shadow and a truth that broke
She’s a hymn rewritten with claws and spit
Burn the crossroads, she was born to split
Every prayer she spit came back with knives
She danced on graves and dared them to rise
A whisper in the pews, a grin in the gallows
She turned every “amen” into something shallow
No savior waits when the whore knows your name
And hell makes house calls when you play that game
Burn the crossroads, let the preacher choke
There’s fire in her shadow and a truth that broke
She’s a hymn rewritten with claws and spit
Burn the crossroads, she was born to split
She didn’t sell her soul—she made the terms
And now the angels flinch when her name burns.
She lit a cigarette off the altar flame, grinning like sin in a Sunday dress
Tied her sins in a braid with teeth, muttered “God can clean up this mess”
She walked like thunder with a scar for each vow, baptized in gasoline
Said, “I pissed on the rules, let the devil preen”
Crossroads cracked beneath her boots, something ancient howled below
Baptists locked their doors, but she already fucked their ghosts in the snow
She carved a title they won’t pronounce into the steeple wall
And laughed as the stained glass started to crawl
Burn the crossroads, let the preacher choke
There’s fire in her shadow and a truth that broke
She’s a hymn rewritten with claws and spit
Burn the crossroads, she was born to split
Every prayer she spit came back with knives
She danced on graves and dared them to rise
A whisper in the pews, a grin in the gallows
She turned every “amen” into something shallow
No savior waits when the whore knows your name
And hell makes house calls when you play that game
Burn the crossroads, let the preacher choke
There’s fire in her shadow and a truth that broke
She’s a hymn rewritten with claws and spit
Burn the crossroads, she was born to split
She didn’t sell her soul—she made the terms
And now the angels flinch when her name burns.
Cant stop the fall, cant break the chain▾
Can’t stop the fall, can’t break the chain
These thoughts are bleeding, driving me insane
I see the void, I see the hell
I’ll let it take me, I’ll let it swell
Into the abyss, it’s where I’m free
Free from the chains that once bound me
Lost in the silence, lost in the pain
The abyss is where I’ll remain
136
Into the abyss, where the demons play
I’ve sold my soul, there’s no price to pay
Into the abyss, where nightmares rise
Welcome to the darkness, no place to hide
Into the abyss, it’s all that I crave
A world of torment, a soul to enslave
Into the abyss, it’s where I’ll stay
Come and join me, it’s too late to pray
112
These thoughts are bleeding, driving me insane
I see the void, I see the hell
I’ll let it take me, I’ll let it swell
Into the abyss, it’s where I’m free
Free from the chains that once bound me
Lost in the silence, lost in the pain
The abyss is where I’ll remain
136
Into the abyss, where the demons play
I’ve sold my soul, there’s no price to pay
Into the abyss, where nightmares rise
Welcome to the darkness, no place to hide
Into the abyss, it’s all that I crave
A world of torment, a soul to enslave
Into the abyss, it’s where I’ll stay
Come and join me, it’s too late to pray
112
Crimson Crossroads▾
Crimson Crossroads”
Marilyn Manson Style, Dark Industrial Rock
Marilyn Manson Style, Dark Industrial Rock
Underneh the blood-red sky,
I see the devil’s face pass by,
Ttered souls, broken glass,
The road to hell, I walk, I pass.
The crossroads call, they beckon me,
A twisted fate, so hard to see,
Chains of guilt around my neck,
Bound to the choices I can’t forget.
Crimson crossroads, where angels fall,
Shadows whisper, answer the call,
I’m lost in the dark, nowhere to go,
The crimson crossroads, the final show.
They said I’d be the one to break,
But in this hell, I’m wide awake,
Every step is soaked in sin,
A blood-stained path where it all begins.
Faces flash, and voices scream,
They haunt me, my silent dream,
Staring into the endless abyss,
A world th’s lost, forever missed.
Crimson crossroads, where angels fall,
Shadows whisper, answer the call,
I’m lost in the dark, nowhere to go,
The crimson crossroads, the final show.
I see the fire, I taste the fear,
Blood runs deep, but I won’t disappear,
Crosses burn, and the world’s gone cold,
Staring into the eyes of the bold.
Crimson crossroads, where angels fall,
Shadows whisper, answer the call,
I’m lost in the dark, nowhere to go,
The crimson crossroads, the final show.
The devil’s laugh, it’s all too clear,
the crossroads, I disappear,
Gone from this world, but never free,
The crimson crossroads, they’ve swallowed me.
Crossroads of the Damned▾
Crossroads of the Damned”
I’ve seen the devil standing the door,
He’s waiting for me, and I can’t ignore,
The whispers in the dark that keep me awake,
Telling me the steps I’ll have to take.
I stand the crossroads, no turning back,
The devil’s calling, but I’ve lost track,
My soul’s a bargain th’s already sold,
Trapped in the nightmare th’s getting old.
Crossroads of the damned, can’t turn away,
I’m stuck in the shadows where the monsters play,
Laughing in my face, I can’t feel the light,
Crossroads of the damned, lost in the night.
Every step’s a choice I can’t seem to make,
The blood on my hands, can’t wipe the sle,
The world’s a stage, and I’m the fool,
Caught in the system, playing by their rules.
The devil’s got me, there’s nowhere to run,
My fe’s already sealed, nowhere to stun,
Every corner I turn, it’s just another lie,
The ges are open, but I’m too scared to die.
Crossroads of the damned, can’t turn away,
I’m stuck in the shadows where the monsters play,
Laughing in my face, I can’t feel the light,
Crossroads of the damned, lost in the night.
The road’s getting colder, the wind’s turning sour,
I’m counting the minutes, the last final hour,
I see the end, but I don’t wanna go,
My hands are shaking, but I’m too slow.
Crossroads of the damned, can’t turn away,
I’m stuck in the shadows where the monsters play,
Laughing in my face, I can’t feel the light,
Crossroads of the damned, lost in the night.
Crossroads of the damned, no way to fight,
The devil’s got me, and heat’s holding tight,
Lost in the dark where the shadows reside,
Crossroads of the damned, there’s nowhere to hide.
Cry out call pain loud▾
Cry out call pain loud
Noise fierce breakin’ night
Shoutz fill the air anger’s right
Broken windows words bite hard
Gaspin’ breaths street’s scarred
Blackened hearts pulse fightin’ back
Empty promises ghosts haunt past
Freedom lies we race fast
Pain collective shoutz last
Steps pound struggle’s beat
Fists raised ruthless heat
Still the shoutz deafening speaks
Cold stone beneath us no comfort just chill
Shadowz embrace us escape from the still
Forbidden pleazure forbidden delight
In the dark we dance heat in the night
Against the cold stone shadows we fight
Give me your warmth your fire tonight
We burn we blaze we find our light
Heat in the night beneath shadows’ might
Wrapped in darkness lost in our sin
Pleazure’s grip pulls us deep within
No rules no boundaries we take the leap
In the forbidden where secrets we keep
Digital wasteland cracked skies unending
So many shut out left searching
Divide breaks souls in the distance
Noise fierce breakin’ night
Shoutz fill the air anger’s right
Broken windows words bite hard
Gaspin’ breaths street’s scarred
Blackened hearts pulse fightin’ back
Empty promises ghosts haunt past
Freedom lies we race fast
Pain collective shoutz last
Steps pound struggle’s beat
Fists raised ruthless heat
Still the shoutz deafening speaks
Cold stone beneath us no comfort just chill
Shadowz embrace us escape from the still
Forbidden pleazure forbidden delight
In the dark we dance heat in the night
Against the cold stone shadows we fight
Give me your warmth your fire tonight
We burn we blaze we find our light
Heat in the night beneath shadows’ might
Wrapped in darkness lost in our sin
Pleazure’s grip pulls us deep within
No rules no boundaries we take the leap
In the forbidden where secrets we keep
Digital wasteland cracked skies unending
So many shut out left searching
Divide breaks souls in the distance
Daddys Back from Vegas▾
Daddy’s Back from Vegas
He staggered through the screen door wearing lipstick on his neck
Said he hit the jackpot, bought a hooker and a Rolex
Mom was passed out on the sofa, bottle tucked beneath her breast
And I was thirteen, learning fast that love just means”what’s left”
He dropped a deck of cards like proof he still had class
Asked if I missed him while he vanished up his past
Said”Someday, boy, you’ll get it —all this charm, all this flash”
But all I got was night terrors and a title I couldn’t trashDaddy’s back from Vegas, high on cheap cologne and sin
Says he loves the family, then disappears again
We light the candles anyway, pretend heat’s Santa Claus
But Daddy’s back from Vegas, and the devil paid the cost
He bragged about roulette, a dancer titled Jeanette
Said she made him feel alive—Mom just lit a cigarette
I wched her smile like a corpse pretending it ain’t dead
Then whisper through clenched teeth, “Just smile and go to bed”
He left again sunrise, left the fridge and mailbox bare
Left a bracelet in the sink and a lock of bleached blonde hairDaddy’s back from Vegas, high on cheap cologne and sin
Says he loves the family, then disappears again
We light the candles anyway, pretend heat’s Santa Claus
But Daddy’s back from Vegas, and the devil paid the cost
I don’t roll dice no more—I just burn the ones he touched
Daddy’s back from Vegas. But I don’t give a fuck.
Daddy’s Back from Vegas▾
Daddy’s Back from Vegas
He staggered through the screen door wearing lipstick on his neck
Said he hit the jackpot, bought a hooker and a Rolex
Mom was passed out on the sofa, bottle tucked beneath her breast
And I was thirteen, learning fast that love just means”what’s left”
He dropped a deck of cards like proof he still had class
Asked if I missed him while he vanished up his past
Said”Someday, boy, you’ll get it —all this charm, all this flash”
But all I got was night terrors and a title I couldn’t trashDaddy’s back from Vegas, high on cheap cologne and sin
Says he loves the family, then disappears again
We light the candles anyway, pretend heat’s Santa Claus
But Daddy’s back from Vegas, and the devil paid the cost
He bragged about roulette, a dancer titled Jeanette
Said she made him feel alive—Mom just lit a cigarette
I wched her smile like a corpse pretending it ain’t dead
Then whisper through clenched teeth, “Just smile and go to bed”
He left again sunrise, left the fridge and mailbox bare
Left a bracelet in the sink and a lock of bleached blonde hairDaddy’s back from Vegas, high on cheap cologne and sin
Says he loves the family, then disappears again
We light the candles anyway, pretend heat’s Santa Claus
But Daddy’s back from Vegas, and the devil paid the cost
I don’t roll dice no more—I just burn the ones he touched
Daddy’s back from Vegas. But I don’t give a fuck.
Dancing through the madness, its all in my mind,▾
Dancing through the madness, it’s all in my mind,
A place where logic’s tangled and I’m left to find
The path that leads me to what’s true,
Though nothing feels real, I’ve got to push through.
Each door I open, another illusion’s there,
But I’ve got the wonder, and the courage to dare.
A place where logic’s tangled and I’m left to find
The path that leads me to what’s true,
Though nothing feels real, I’ve got to push through.
Each door I open, another illusion’s there,
But I’ve got the wonder, and the courage to dare.
Dead Mans Eyes▾
Dead Man’s Eyes
They said you could see the truth in a dead man’s eyes, that final flicker before the light goes out—
not some poetic last look, but the raw, unfiltered moment where life slips through cracked pupils like smoke through broken glass,
leaving behind nothing but the cold reflection of everything that’s been lost, everything that never mattered.
You stare too long, and they don’t just stare back—
they drag you in,
pulling you through that hollow space where the soul used to live,
showing you the rot behind the skin,
the lies stitched into the corners of every smile that never reached the heart.
The dead don’t blink,
don’t flinch,
don’t turn away from the ugliness you pretend doesn’t exist.
They hold it there,
like a mirror you can’t shatter,
forcing you to see yourself
through the lens of what’s inevitable.
And maybe that’s why you can’t look away.
Since there’s something in those glassy, unblinking orbs—
a silent accusation,
a reminder that you’re not as far from that same emptiness
as you want to believe.
You see the lines on their face,
the stories carved into their skin like forgotten graffiti on a crumbling wall,
but it’s the eyes that tell you everything—
not about them,
but about you.
Since when you look into a dead man’s eyes,
you’re not searching for answers.
You’re searching for proof
that you’re still here,
that the pulse beneath your skin
means something more than borrowed time,
that the breath you just took
isn’t the last one you’ll waste on wondering
what comes next.
But the dead don’t offer comfort.
They don’t promise meaning.
They just stare,
silent and unchanging,
until you realize—
the only thing separating you from them
is a heartbeat.
And that’s not enough.
If you drop scissors, don’t pick them up
If You Drop Scissors, Don’t Pick Them Up
They hit the floor with a sharp, metallic clang,
blades snapping apart like jaws mid-bite,
an echo that slices through the room
louder than it should beat,
louder than you want it to beat.
The rule is simple:
Don’t pick them up.
Leave them there,
open-mouthed and waiting,
since something about metal hitting the ground
calls for more than just caution.
It’s not just about the risk of a slip,
or the sting of skin meeting steel—
it’s about what you awaken
when you disturb the balance,
when you invite sharp things
to taste more than air.
Blades remember.
They crave the tension of flesh
against their cold precision,
the memory of cutting through
more than just fabric.
You think it’s just superstition,
just one of those warnings whispered by grandmothers
with furrowed brows and tired hands,
but when you bend down,
you feel it—
that prickle at the back of your neck,
like the scissors aren’t the only thing watching.
Maybe it’s not the blades you should fear,
but what they open—
doors to accidents waiting to happen,
to words you can’t unsay,
to ties you didn’t mean to sever.
So you leave them there,
glinting under the light,
a silent dare on the floor.
Let someone else risk it.
Let the sharp edges lie.
Since sometimes,
what’s broken or dropped
untouched,
unmended,
and waiting.
I’m Absolutely Thrilled
Oh yeah,
just ecunchanging.
Wake up to the same ceiling,
same cracked plaster smile
mocking me from above.
The coffee’s cold,
but that’s just how I like it—
a bitter punch in the throat
to remind me
that life’s one long joke
with no punchline.
They said you could see the truth in a dead man’s eyes, that final flicker before the light goes out—
not some poetic last look, but the raw, unfiltered moment where life slips through cracked pupils like smoke through broken glass,
leaving behind nothing but the cold reflection of everything that’s been lost, everything that never mattered.
You stare too long, and they don’t just stare back—
they drag you in,
pulling you through that hollow space where the soul used to live,
showing you the rot behind the skin,
the lies stitched into the corners of every smile that never reached the heart.
The dead don’t blink,
don’t flinch,
don’t turn away from the ugliness you pretend doesn’t exist.
They hold it there,
like a mirror you can’t shatter,
forcing you to see yourself
through the lens of what’s inevitable.
And maybe that’s why you can’t look away.
Since there’s something in those glassy, unblinking orbs—
a silent accusation,
a reminder that you’re not as far from that same emptiness
as you want to believe.
You see the lines on their face,
the stories carved into their skin like forgotten graffiti on a crumbling wall,
but it’s the eyes that tell you everything—
not about them,
but about you.
Since when you look into a dead man’s eyes,
you’re not searching for answers.
You’re searching for proof
that you’re still here,
that the pulse beneath your skin
means something more than borrowed time,
that the breath you just took
isn’t the last one you’ll waste on wondering
what comes next.
But the dead don’t offer comfort.
They don’t promise meaning.
They just stare,
silent and unchanging,
until you realize—
the only thing separating you from them
is a heartbeat.
And that’s not enough.
If you drop scissors, don’t pick them up
If You Drop Scissors, Don’t Pick Them Up
They hit the floor with a sharp, metallic clang,
blades snapping apart like jaws mid-bite,
an echo that slices through the room
louder than it should beat,
louder than you want it to beat.
The rule is simple:
Don’t pick them up.
Leave them there,
open-mouthed and waiting,
since something about metal hitting the ground
calls for more than just caution.
It’s not just about the risk of a slip,
or the sting of skin meeting steel—
it’s about what you awaken
when you disturb the balance,
when you invite sharp things
to taste more than air.
Blades remember.
They crave the tension of flesh
against their cold precision,
the memory of cutting through
more than just fabric.
You think it’s just superstition,
just one of those warnings whispered by grandmothers
with furrowed brows and tired hands,
but when you bend down,
you feel it—
that prickle at the back of your neck,
like the scissors aren’t the only thing watching.
Maybe it’s not the blades you should fear,
but what they open—
doors to accidents waiting to happen,
to words you can’t unsay,
to ties you didn’t mean to sever.
So you leave them there,
glinting under the light,
a silent dare on the floor.
Let someone else risk it.
Let the sharp edges lie.
Since sometimes,
what’s broken or dropped
untouched,
unmended,
and waiting.
I’m Absolutely Thrilled
Oh yeah,
just ecunchanging.
Wake up to the same ceiling,
same cracked plaster smile
mocking me from above.
The coffee’s cold,
but that’s just how I like it—
a bitter punch in the throat
to remind me
that life’s one long joke
with no punchline.
Dead Reckoning▾
Dead Reckoning
, sexy, sexual, moans
The world’s been burned to a blackened mess
The skies are screaming, there’s nothing left
Cities crumble, hope’s a faded dream
Only shadows dance in the silent scream
There’s no more time to question why
The stars above have said goodbye
We’re just drifting in this endless haze
Caught in a hell we can’t escape
Dead reckoning, no way back
Running blind on this endless track
Dead reckoning, where the night won’t end
No more light, no way to pretend
The ashes fall like a second rain
We’re drowning in the endless pain
Every step, another broken vow
Just empty faces staring down
Dead reckoning, a fate untold
Walking forward in the dust so cold
Dead reckoning, the world’s last breath
We’ll take the fall, we’ll greet our death.
, sexy, sexual, moans
The world’s been burned to a blackened mess
The skies are screaming, there’s nothing left
Cities crumble, hope’s a faded dream
Only shadows dance in the silent scream
There’s no more time to question why
The stars above have said goodbye
We’re just drifting in this endless haze
Caught in a hell we can’t escape
Dead reckoning, no way back
Running blind on this endless track
Dead reckoning, where the night won’t end
No more light, no way to pretend
The ashes fall like a second rain
We’re drowning in the endless pain
Every step, another broken vow
Just empty faces staring down
Dead reckoning, a fate untold
Walking forward in the dust so cold
Dead reckoning, the world’s last breath
We’ll take the fall, we’ll greet our death.
Deck These Halls in Gasoline [Wraith▾
Deck These Halls in Gasoline [Wraith]
Christmas rolls up again on cracked tires and bald hope, the calendar drunk on red circles and fake holly bleeding across the month,Stores already played the carols since October and my nerves went threadbare somewhere between “silent night” and the fifteenth limited-time sale stunt,Bells from the church up the road pound out that cheerfully grim little melody about goodwill and peace while the parking lot hosts three fistfights and a fender bender,I watch from the apartment window with a chipped mug of something that pretends to be cocoa and warms like liquid regret, laughing under my breath at every brave holiday offender.
Inside my place the lights hang crooked and half-dead across the wall like a string of blinking lies that ran out of battery and just refused to admit defeat,One side flickers like a seizure warning, the other side stays dark as if it knows better than to advertise that anything here might still feel complete,I duct-taped a plastic wreath to the door because the nail fell out two years ago and I never fixed it, call it ambiance, call it budget-friendly, call it a cry for help,The bow hangs like a noose rearranged for fashion, and every time the hallway door slams, the whole thing jumps like it wants to throw itself off the shelf.
A replay of childhood piles in through the cracks while the radiator hisses like an annoyed snake that got hired as seasonal heating,My head drags me back to that crooked little house where December sounded like clinking liquor bottles and the TV screaming,The tree leaned in the corner like it already knew it would be blamed for everything when the string of lights shorted and the breaker snapped the room into dark,Dad shouting about “ruined Christmas” with a bottle in his fist and mom whispering apologies to the ornaments as if they were godparents to every buried spark.
We had those glossy catalogs stacked on the table, every toy circled in marker like we were ordering a reality that never made it into stock,I wrote “dear Santa” letters asking for small stupid miracles like a normal dinner or a night without the sound of fists hitting doors like a cheap knock,The jingle of bells on TV fought with the jangle of keys thrown against walls in the next room, and the whole house smelled like pine, burnt dinner, and stale fear,I learned early that “Christmas cheer” meant don’t say the wrong thing, don’t breathe too loud, don’t ask why the presents look smaller every year.
These days the ghosts have better timing; they come dressed in LED halos and ugly sweaters, carrying casserole dishes and unresolved trauma,Office parties that feel like low-budget exorcisms where everyone pretends the dress code and a grab bag will cleanse the sins of drama,We stand in circles with plastic cups while the boss in the reindeer tie brags about family ski trips and charitable donations that make his tax guy smile,Someone plays that pop star cover of a classic carol, bright and desperate, and I swear I see a shadow slip between the cubicles, humming along with a sharper style.
The elevator down to the lobby smells like wet boots, canned pine air freshener, and something metallic that no one wants to identify,There’s a fake tree standing in the corner with ornaments so glossy they reflect my face ten times, each reflection a different version of “try,”Underneath sit neatly wrapped boxes filled with nothing but corporate swag and crumbs of validation, each tag written in the same rushed scrawl,I catch a flicker in the mirrored surface of a red ball and for a breathless second my own eyes look back at me from a year when I still believed in it all.
Outside, the city tries hard to look cheerful but the snow has turned gray along the gutters, churned up by traffic and half-hearted steps,A street Santa rings his bell with the hollow focus of someone who took this gig to forget the rest of his mess, threadbare coat, nicotine breath, shaking hands and cigarette burns etched into his neck like faded steps,Kids rush past with sticky hands and candy canes, their laughter bright and sharp and wild enough to make the air feel temporarily less heavy,Behind them, a teenager stares at a glass window filled with expensive gifts, cheeks raw from the wind, eyes already learning that some winters are petty.
I pass a house on my walk home where the decoration strategy clearly involved a dare and too much caffeine over several nights in a row,Every inch of the roof strapped with lights that pulse in sync to some loud anthem about angels while an inflatable Santa teeters like he might blow,The yard nativity glows in plastic holiness, Mary gazing serenely at a baby that looks factory-molded, Joseph standing guard like an exhausted warehouse clerk on overtime,Yet if you look past the lights into the second-story window, you catch silhouettes pacing, arms flung wide, small storms brewing that never rhyme.
Back inside my building, Mrs. Aquino down the hall hums carols while burning cookies again, smoke drifting under her door like sarcastic incense,She invites me in for the annual ritual of “taste this and lie,” her eyes glittering with mischief and tiredness, the kitchen a battlefield of sugar and nonsense,We laugh until we cough and she jokes that if hell exists it probably hosts an eternal bake sale where everything is burnt and you still have to pretend it’s great,I tell her if hell exists it likely mirrors this holiday pretty closely, just crank the music, remove the exit signs, and lock the gate.
Later, alone, the apartment shrinks to just me and the low hum of decorations trying to sell me the idea of warmth,I sit cross-legged under my stubborn little tree, its branches too sparse, its ornaments too mismatched, its personality leaning north of most,In the quiet, the past drags a chair up and sits beside me, wearing a Santa hat and that smirk that always made me want to break something and kiss it after,Every messed-up December slumps down in front of me like a drunk uncle, telling the same stories with more ghosts in the laughter.
The bells from the church toll midnight, each note sinking into my chest like cold coins dropped into a collection plate shaped like a rib cage,Where’s the light, I ask the ceiling, not expecting an answer from peeling paint and water stains that mark every argument and age,It feels buried somewhere far under the floorboards of this month, deep under tinsel and retail and grief dressed up in glitter sale tags,Every prayer feels like junk mail stuffed back into the envelope, returned to sender, stamped with “insufficient faith” in red flags.
This is the part where the old stories promise redemption, where the star appears, where the angels sing and everything suddenly aligns,My version plays different: jingle ghosts drift down the hallway with plastic bags from the discount store, humming off-key in crude yet clever lines,They pull up every bad memory like old carpet, shaking dust and broken ornaments across my floor while grinning with cracked teeth,I tell them they’re late, they shrug and say traffic in the afterlife is murder around December, and ask if I still remember how to grit my teeth.
We circle the tree, my ghosts and me, like kids at a sleepover who discovered the ouija board and went a little too far,Each spirit carries some holiday that ripped, some year that split, some quiet Christmas where my heart sat in the corner like an unplugged star,They talk about the time I almost ended it all on a bitter December night, phone in one hand, half-written goodbye in the other,How the ringtone from a friend who refused to give up on me cut through the darkest verse of some carol and dragged me back into this clutter.
“Christmas hell,” I name it out loud, not as a complaint but as a genre, a category, a playlist made of blood and bells and cheap whisky and half-meant cheer,This season that magnifies every empty chair at the table, every lover that walked, every family fracture that never quite healed, every wish that never got near,Yet, even here, in the worst version of the holiday, there is a curl of warmth like cigarette smoke from a window opened three inches,A neighbor knocking to offer leftovers, a kid downstairs leaving paper snowflakes taped to every door, small blessings that stick like stitches.
Maybe this is the joke winter plays, dressing up torment in fairy lights, making misery wear a Santa hat and cracked red lipstick,Making us sit together in living rooms that smell like cinnamon and resentment until someone finally says sorry or flips out and that coin lands either soft or sick,In this twisted little tradition I light a candle not for saints or miracles but for everyone stuck in the back pew of this holiday, scanning the exits,I watch the wax run like tears through mascara, thick and stubborn, while outside the bells keep hammering out hope for those who still want to believe in credits.
I raise my mug to the invisible crowd of survivors who drag themselves through December with teeth clenched and hearts patched with tape,To the ones who set boundaries like barbed wire around their sanity, who say no to blood relatives and yes to chosen family in whatever shape,To the kid inside me that still looks for stars through storm clouds and keeps a secret list of small good things even when everything feels wrecked,We are the congregation of scorched carolers, singing off-key in the alley behind the church, rewriting the lyrics to something honest and incorrect.
In my own cracked liturgy I bless the midnight laundromat where strangers share dryer sheets and trauma under humming fluorescent hum,The diner that never closes, where the waitresses refill coffee without question for sad-eyed regulars who tip like they’re buying absolution from their own numb,The stray cat that curls up outside my window on Christmas night as if guarding my foolish little heart from one more ambush,And my stubborn pulse that keeps knocking, patient and rude, on the walls of my chest, refusing to leave town even when the forecast screams slush.
Somewhere in the static of carols and commercials, a rougher hymn crawls through, my own private chorus, not holy, not neat,It tells me this season can be both graveyard and cradle, both haunted hallway and shelter from an even colder street,Christmas hell, yes, but within it a kind of crooked sanctuary built from people who know the dark and still offer you a chair,A holiday carved out of survival, not perfection, where the only true miracle is that you’re still here breathing frosty air.
Christmas rolls up again on cracked tires and bald hope, the calendar drunk on red circles and fake holly bleeding across the month,Stores already played the carols since October and my nerves went threadbare somewhere between “silent night” and the fifteenth limited-time sale stunt,Bells from the church up the road pound out that cheerfully grim little melody about goodwill and peace while the parking lot hosts three fistfights and a fender bender,I watch from the apartment window with a chipped mug of something that pretends to be cocoa and warms like liquid regret, laughing under my breath at every brave holiday offender.
Inside my place the lights hang crooked and half-dead across the wall like a string of blinking lies that ran out of battery and just refused to admit defeat,One side flickers like a seizure warning, the other side stays dark as if it knows better than to advertise that anything here might still feel complete,I duct-taped a plastic wreath to the door because the nail fell out two years ago and I never fixed it, call it ambiance, call it budget-friendly, call it a cry for help,The bow hangs like a noose rearranged for fashion, and every time the hallway door slams, the whole thing jumps like it wants to throw itself off the shelf.
A replay of childhood piles in through the cracks while the radiator hisses like an annoyed snake that got hired as seasonal heating,My head drags me back to that crooked little house where December sounded like clinking liquor bottles and the TV screaming,The tree leaned in the corner like it already knew it would be blamed for everything when the string of lights shorted and the breaker snapped the room into dark,Dad shouting about “ruined Christmas” with a bottle in his fist and mom whispering apologies to the ornaments as if they were godparents to every buried spark.
We had those glossy catalogs stacked on the table, every toy circled in marker like we were ordering a reality that never made it into stock,I wrote “dear Santa” letters asking for small stupid miracles like a normal dinner or a night without the sound of fists hitting doors like a cheap knock,The jingle of bells on TV fought with the jangle of keys thrown against walls in the next room, and the whole house smelled like pine, burnt dinner, and stale fear,I learned early that “Christmas cheer” meant don’t say the wrong thing, don’t breathe too loud, don’t ask why the presents look smaller every year.
These days the ghosts have better timing; they come dressed in LED halos and ugly sweaters, carrying casserole dishes and unresolved trauma,Office parties that feel like low-budget exorcisms where everyone pretends the dress code and a grab bag will cleanse the sins of drama,We stand in circles with plastic cups while the boss in the reindeer tie brags about family ski trips and charitable donations that make his tax guy smile,Someone plays that pop star cover of a classic carol, bright and desperate, and I swear I see a shadow slip between the cubicles, humming along with a sharper style.
The elevator down to the lobby smells like wet boots, canned pine air freshener, and something metallic that no one wants to identify,There’s a fake tree standing in the corner with ornaments so glossy they reflect my face ten times, each reflection a different version of “try,”Underneath sit neatly wrapped boxes filled with nothing but corporate swag and crumbs of validation, each tag written in the same rushed scrawl,I catch a flicker in the mirrored surface of a red ball and for a breathless second my own eyes look back at me from a year when I still believed in it all.
Outside, the city tries hard to look cheerful but the snow has turned gray along the gutters, churned up by traffic and half-hearted steps,A street Santa rings his bell with the hollow focus of someone who took this gig to forget the rest of his mess, threadbare coat, nicotine breath, shaking hands and cigarette burns etched into his neck like faded steps,Kids rush past with sticky hands and candy canes, their laughter bright and sharp and wild enough to make the air feel temporarily less heavy,Behind them, a teenager stares at a glass window filled with expensive gifts, cheeks raw from the wind, eyes already learning that some winters are petty.
I pass a house on my walk home where the decoration strategy clearly involved a dare and too much caffeine over several nights in a row,Every inch of the roof strapped with lights that pulse in sync to some loud anthem about angels while an inflatable Santa teeters like he might blow,The yard nativity glows in plastic holiness, Mary gazing serenely at a baby that looks factory-molded, Joseph standing guard like an exhausted warehouse clerk on overtime,Yet if you look past the lights into the second-story window, you catch silhouettes pacing, arms flung wide, small storms brewing that never rhyme.
Back inside my building, Mrs. Aquino down the hall hums carols while burning cookies again, smoke drifting under her door like sarcastic incense,She invites me in for the annual ritual of “taste this and lie,” her eyes glittering with mischief and tiredness, the kitchen a battlefield of sugar and nonsense,We laugh until we cough and she jokes that if hell exists it probably hosts an eternal bake sale where everything is burnt and you still have to pretend it’s great,I tell her if hell exists it likely mirrors this holiday pretty closely, just crank the music, remove the exit signs, and lock the gate.
Later, alone, the apartment shrinks to just me and the low hum of decorations trying to sell me the idea of warmth,I sit cross-legged under my stubborn little tree, its branches too sparse, its ornaments too mismatched, its personality leaning north of most,In the quiet, the past drags a chair up and sits beside me, wearing a Santa hat and that smirk that always made me want to break something and kiss it after,Every messed-up December slumps down in front of me like a drunk uncle, telling the same stories with more ghosts in the laughter.
The bells from the church toll midnight, each note sinking into my chest like cold coins dropped into a collection plate shaped like a rib cage,Where’s the light, I ask the ceiling, not expecting an answer from peeling paint and water stains that mark every argument and age,It feels buried somewhere far under the floorboards of this month, deep under tinsel and retail and grief dressed up in glitter sale tags,Every prayer feels like junk mail stuffed back into the envelope, returned to sender, stamped with “insufficient faith” in red flags.
This is the part where the old stories promise redemption, where the star appears, where the angels sing and everything suddenly aligns,My version plays different: jingle ghosts drift down the hallway with plastic bags from the discount store, humming off-key in crude yet clever lines,They pull up every bad memory like old carpet, shaking dust and broken ornaments across my floor while grinning with cracked teeth,I tell them they’re late, they shrug and say traffic in the afterlife is murder around December, and ask if I still remember how to grit my teeth.
We circle the tree, my ghosts and me, like kids at a sleepover who discovered the ouija board and went a little too far,Each spirit carries some holiday that ripped, some year that split, some quiet Christmas where my heart sat in the corner like an unplugged star,They talk about the time I almost ended it all on a bitter December night, phone in one hand, half-written goodbye in the other,How the ringtone from a friend who refused to give up on me cut through the darkest verse of some carol and dragged me back into this clutter.
“Christmas hell,” I name it out loud, not as a complaint but as a genre, a category, a playlist made of blood and bells and cheap whisky and half-meant cheer,This season that magnifies every empty chair at the table, every lover that walked, every family fracture that never quite healed, every wish that never got near,Yet, even here, in the worst version of the holiday, there is a curl of warmth like cigarette smoke from a window opened three inches,A neighbor knocking to offer leftovers, a kid downstairs leaving paper snowflakes taped to every door, small blessings that stick like stitches.
Maybe this is the joke winter plays, dressing up torment in fairy lights, making misery wear a Santa hat and cracked red lipstick,Making us sit together in living rooms that smell like cinnamon and resentment until someone finally says sorry or flips out and that coin lands either soft or sick,In this twisted little tradition I light a candle not for saints or miracles but for everyone stuck in the back pew of this holiday, scanning the exits,I watch the wax run like tears through mascara, thick and stubborn, while outside the bells keep hammering out hope for those who still want to believe in credits.
I raise my mug to the invisible crowd of survivors who drag themselves through December with teeth clenched and hearts patched with tape,To the ones who set boundaries like barbed wire around their sanity, who say no to blood relatives and yes to chosen family in whatever shape,To the kid inside me that still looks for stars through storm clouds and keeps a secret list of small good things even when everything feels wrecked,We are the congregation of scorched carolers, singing off-key in the alley behind the church, rewriting the lyrics to something honest and incorrect.
In my own cracked liturgy I bless the midnight laundromat where strangers share dryer sheets and trauma under humming fluorescent hum,The diner that never closes, where the waitresses refill coffee without question for sad-eyed regulars who tip like they’re buying absolution from their own numb,The stray cat that curls up outside my window on Christmas night as if guarding my foolish little heart from one more ambush,And my stubborn pulse that keeps knocking, patient and rude, on the walls of my chest, refusing to leave town even when the forecast screams slush.
Somewhere in the static of carols and commercials, a rougher hymn crawls through, my own private chorus, not holy, not neat,It tells me this season can be both graveyard and cradle, both haunted hallway and shelter from an even colder street,Christmas hell, yes, but within it a kind of crooked sanctuary built from people who know the dark and still offer you a chair,A holiday carved out of survival, not perfection, where the only true miracle is that you’re still here breathing frosty air.
Endless Highways▾
Endless Highways
On this road to nowhere, rolling ‘neh rhythms of a restless rain,
Asphalt whispers, winding tales, through windows streaked with pain.
Headlights hunting horizons that hide behind the haze,
Fueling the freedom of the night, where the road unwinds and sways.
Driving down this nowhere path, where dreams and dusk collide,
Each mile a memory fading fast, in the rearview of the ride.
No signposts to salvation, just the endless stretch of trials,
On these lonely lanes of longing, counting down the miles.
Through towns forgotten by time, under stoplights blinking red,
Where echoes of old engines stir the secrets long since dead.
The hum of the highway, a hymn in the hollow heart’s hold,
Cruising past shadows, stories untold, in the cold.
Driving down this nowhere path, where dreams and dusk collide,
Each mile a memory fading fast, in the rearview of the ride.
No signposts to salvation, just the endless stretch of trials,
On these lonely lanes of longing, counting down the miles.
The map is marked in milestones of missteps and mistakes,
Each curve and corner a course where the soul awakes.
Seeking a destinion in the depth of the dark,
Fuel burnt on a fantasy, a fire from a spark.
Driving down this nowhere path, where dreams and dusk collide,
Each mile a memory fading fast, in the rearview of the ride.
No signposts to salvation, just the endless stretch of trials,
On these lonely lanes of longing, counting down the miles.
On this road to nowhere, rolling ‘neh rhythms of a restless rain,
Asphalt whispers, winding tales, through windows streaked with pain.
Headlights hunting horizons that hide behind the haze,
Fueling the freedom of the night, where the road unwinds and sways.
Driving down this nowhere path, where dreams and dusk collide,
Each mile a memory fading fast, in the rearview of the ride.
No signposts to salvation, just the endless stretch of trials,
On these lonely lanes of longing, counting down the miles.
Through towns forgotten by time, under stoplights blinking red,
Where echoes of old engines stir the secrets long since dead.
The hum of the highway, a hymn in the hollow heart’s hold,
Cruising past shadows, stories untold, in the cold.
Driving down this nowhere path, where dreams and dusk collide,
Each mile a memory fading fast, in the rearview of the ride.
No signposts to salvation, just the endless stretch of trials,
On these lonely lanes of longing, counting down the miles.
The map is marked in milestones of missteps and mistakes,
Each curve and corner a course where the soul awakes.
Seeking a destinion in the depth of the dark,
Fuel burnt on a fantasy, a fire from a spark.
Driving down this nowhere path, where dreams and dusk collide,
Each mile a memory fading fast, in the rearview of the ride.
No signposts to salvation, just the endless stretch of trials,
On these lonely lanes of longing, counting down the miles.
Entangled In A Deadly Romance▾
Entangled In A Deadly Romance
Their Love Blooms In Darkness Bold
Within The Castle’s Secrets Veiled
Whispers Of The Cursed Softly Scream
Love Betrayed, Where Shadows Prevailed
Bound By Blood, Living As If In Dream
His Touch As Cold As Death’s Cold Face
Her Warmth Fleeting Like Dying Flame
comfort Found In Their Dark Embrace
Shame They Bear Without Name
Their Love A Curse ‘Neath Pale Moonbeam Glow
Endless Nights Lost In Darkened Flight
Shadows’ Waltz In Eternal Show
Might Discovered Where They Unite
Stars Surrendering To Their Lover’s Plight
Bound By Darkness, Together They Fight
In The Vampire’s Arms, Taking Flight
Forever Lost Within Endless Night
“Echoes In My Mind”]
Echoes In My Mind”]
Profile avatar Rustdawg73
July 21, 2024 at 4:25 AM
Echoes In My Mind, Shadows Whisper Lies
A Relentless Storm Of Thoughts, Tearing At My Core
Images Of Violence, Darkened Lullabies
Struggling To Find A Calm Amidst The Mental War
In The Dead Of Night, When The Silence Screams
My Sanity Unravels, A Fragile Thread
Fighting Off The Visions, Twisted Fever Dreams
Wishing I Could Silence The Demons In My Head
Invasive Thoughts, A Prison I Can’t Flee
Haunted By The Darkness Deep Inside
Trying To Escape The Horror I See
But There’s No Place For My Mind To Hide
Beneath The Surface, Where My Fears Reside
A Constant Battle, Never Finding Peace
Terror In The Corners Of My Mind
Longing For The Chaos To Finally Cease
Every Waking Moment, A Nightmare’s Grip
My Heart Races As The Visions Play
Desperate To Avoid This Mental Trip
But The Intrusive Thoughts Won’t Go Away
The Struggle Continues, Day After Day
A Never-Ending War Within My Mind
Searching For Peace In The Fray
Hoping Someday My Soul Will Find
In The Moonlight’s Tender Hold, Shadows Twine
“Twilight Melodies”]
Twilight Melodies”]
Profile avatar Rustdawg73
July 28, 2024 at 2:27 AM
Their Love Blooms In Darkness Bold
Within The Castle’s Secrets Veiled
Whispers Of The Cursed Softly Scream
Love Betrayed, Where Shadows Prevailed
Bound By Blood, Living As If In Dream
His Touch As Cold As Death’s Cold Face
Her Warmth Fleeting Like Dying Flame
comfort Found In Their Dark Embrace
Shame They Bear Without Name
Their Love A Curse ‘Neath Pale Moonbeam Glow
Endless Nights Lost In Darkened Flight
Shadows’ Waltz In Eternal Show
Might Discovered Where They Unite
Stars Surrendering To Their Lover’s Plight
Bound By Darkness, Together They Fight
In The Vampire’s Arms, Taking Flight
Forever Lost Within Endless Night
“Echoes In My Mind”]
Echoes In My Mind”]
Profile avatar Rustdawg73
July 21, 2024 at 4:25 AM
Echoes In My Mind, Shadows Whisper Lies
A Relentless Storm Of Thoughts, Tearing At My Core
Images Of Violence, Darkened Lullabies
Struggling To Find A Calm Amidst The Mental War
In The Dead Of Night, When The Silence Screams
My Sanity Unravels, A Fragile Thread
Fighting Off The Visions, Twisted Fever Dreams
Wishing I Could Silence The Demons In My Head
Invasive Thoughts, A Prison I Can’t Flee
Haunted By The Darkness Deep Inside
Trying To Escape The Horror I See
But There’s No Place For My Mind To Hide
Beneath The Surface, Where My Fears Reside
A Constant Battle, Never Finding Peace
Terror In The Corners Of My Mind
Longing For The Chaos To Finally Cease
Every Waking Moment, A Nightmare’s Grip
My Heart Races As The Visions Play
Desperate To Avoid This Mental Trip
But The Intrusive Thoughts Won’t Go Away
The Struggle Continues, Day After Day
A Never-Ending War Within My Mind
Searching For Peace In The Fray
Hoping Someday My Soul Will Find
In The Moonlight’s Tender Hold, Shadows Twine
“Twilight Melodies”]
Twilight Melodies”]
Profile avatar Rustdawg73
July 28, 2024 at 2:27 AM
In the twilight hours we sway
Rusted tunes begin to play
Notes remind of times astray
Memories in shadows stay
Echoes of a distant day
Lingering not far away
Hearts were young and minds would stray
Lost in twilight’s soft display
Sing with me the old tune’s song
Hold on tight to what’s been gone
In the twilight hours long
All our memories belong
Soft the night begins to fall
Rusted notes they fill the hall
Whispers in the breezes call
Time stands still for one and all
Dreams we had they come alive
Moments past begin to thrive
Harmony in hearts survive
In the twilight hours we dive
Sing with me the old tune’s song
Hold on tight to what’s been gone
In the twilight hours long
All our memories belong
“Rusted Tunes”]
Rusted Tunes”]
Profile avatar Rustdawg73
July 28, 2024 at 2:23 AM
In the rusted tunes we find
Echoes of a bygone time
Whispers of an old refrain
Memories that never wane
Silver strings and bronze guitars
Play the notes beneath the stars
Timeless songs they start to play
Drawing us to yesterday
Melodies that bind
Living in our minds
Rusted tunes that echo clear
Fortunes Frayed▾
Fortunes Frayed
In the shrouded shadows of skyscrapers sky-high,
Wealth whispers its wonders, worn as a sly sigh.
On streets split by starkness, starkly arrayed,
Fortunes and famines, fervently frayed.
Beneath the shineing glass, the gilded gate,
Poverty ponders, prods, and permeates.
The city’s sinew, silently strained,
Between opulence ordained and lives pained.
Riches rattle in rooms of the revered,
While the wretched reach out, rarely revered.
Wealth’s walls wail a woeful, warring tune,
Equality eclipsed, under a covetous moon.
High in their havens, the haves hold their hordes,
Guarding gains while the gaunt grope in cords.
Below, the have-nots, haggling for hope,
In the scraps of the city, they scrounge and they slope.
Coins clash in the counting, a cold, callous sound,
As pennies for the poor plummet, pound by pound.
The disparity deepens, delves into the dirt,
Where want and waste woefully flirt.
Riches rattle in rooms of the revered,
While the wretched reach out, rarely revered.
Wealth’s walls wail a woeful, warring tune,
Equality eclipsed, under a covetous moon.
Markets march on, their mantras resound,
In plush palaces where the plush profoundly abound.
Yet the alleys ache with the cries of the curt,
Where dreams die daily, and despair does flirt.
The echoes of equity, ever so slight,
Struggle to be heard over gold shineing bright.
In the fight for fairness, the feeble find fears,
Muffled by the monied, their moans no one hears.
Riches rattle in rooms of the revered,
While the wretched reach out, rarely revered.
Wealth’s walls wail a woeful, warring tune,
Equality eclipsed, under a covetous moon.
So we sing of the conflict, the separation seen,
A call to combat the corrupt and the eager.
For in the shadows of affluence, adversity is sown,
Where the lines of wealth are wickedly, willfully drawn.
In the shrouded shadows of skyscrapers sky-high,
Wealth whispers its wonders, worn as a sly sigh.
On streets split by starkness, starkly arrayed,
Fortunes and famines, fervently frayed.
Beneath the shineing glass, the gilded gate,
Poverty ponders, prods, and permeates.
The city’s sinew, silently strained,
Between opulence ordained and lives pained.
Riches rattle in rooms of the revered,
While the wretched reach out, rarely revered.
Wealth’s walls wail a woeful, warring tune,
Equality eclipsed, under a covetous moon.
High in their havens, the haves hold their hordes,
Guarding gains while the gaunt grope in cords.
Below, the have-nots, haggling for hope,
In the scraps of the city, they scrounge and they slope.
Coins clash in the counting, a cold, callous sound,
As pennies for the poor plummet, pound by pound.
The disparity deepens, delves into the dirt,
Where want and waste woefully flirt.
Riches rattle in rooms of the revered,
While the wretched reach out, rarely revered.
Wealth’s walls wail a woeful, warring tune,
Equality eclipsed, under a covetous moon.
Markets march on, their mantras resound,
In plush palaces where the plush profoundly abound.
Yet the alleys ache with the cries of the curt,
Where dreams die daily, and despair does flirt.
The echoes of equity, ever so slight,
Struggle to be heard over gold shineing bright.
In the fight for fairness, the feeble find fears,
Muffled by the monied, their moans no one hears.
Riches rattle in rooms of the revered,
While the wretched reach out, rarely revered.
Wealth’s walls wail a woeful, warring tune,
Equality eclipsed, under a covetous moon.
So we sing of the conflict, the separation seen,
A call to combat the corrupt and the eager.
For in the shadows of affluence, adversity is sown,
Where the lines of wealth are wickedly, willfully drawn.
Friends call me to the wild, to leave the pain behind,▾
Friends call me to the wild, to leave the pain behind,
But how can I run free and wild, with this anguish in my mind?
Laughter rings by the campfire, my heart stays far away,
In the grip of dark desire, where my broken dreams lay.
But how can I run free and wild, with this anguish in my mind?
Laughter rings by the campfire, my heart stays far away,
In the grip of dark desire, where my broken dreams lay.
Gallows Humor in the Family▾
Gallows Humor in the Family
The diagnosis arrived in the kitchen—
my father at the table, the stitching
of the moment where the family learned
the thing, and my brother turned
to me and said the wrong-right thing,
the dark joke in the suffering
of the news, and we laughed together,
all four of us, in the weather.
Gallows humor in the family—the dark
laugh in the kitchen, the mark
of the surviving, the wrong-room funny
that the family runs on. The money
of the dark joke: the together
in the bad news, the whether-
you-want-to-or-not laugh.
The family laugh: behalf.
We’ve always done this—the pointed
joke at the terrible, the jointed
response of the people who love each other
and know the bad is coming. My brother
has the timing, my father has
the delivery, and my mother has
the best one-liner in the family.
The dark joke: our anatomy.
The gallows laugh is the realest—
the families that run the cruelest
jokes at the worst times are the ones
who’ve learned the truth: the runs
of the dark funny are the seam
of the surviving. The family’s dream
deferred becomes the family’s bit.
The gallows humor: we’re in it.
The diagnosis arrived in the kitchen—
my father at the table, the stitching
of the moment where the family learned
the thing, and my brother turned
to me and said the wrong-right thing,
the dark joke in the suffering
of the news, and we laughed together,
all four of us, in the weather.
Gallows humor in the family—the dark
laugh in the kitchen, the mark
of the surviving, the wrong-room funny
that the family runs on. The money
of the dark joke: the together
in the bad news, the whether-
you-want-to-or-not laugh.
The family laugh: behalf.
We’ve always done this—the pointed
joke at the terrible, the jointed
response of the people who love each other
and know the bad is coming. My brother
has the timing, my father has
the delivery, and my mother has
the best one-liner in the family.
The dark joke: our anatomy.
The gallows laugh is the realest—
the families that run the cruelest
jokes at the worst times are the ones
who’ve learned the truth: the runs
of the dark funny are the seam
of the surviving. The family’s dream
deferred becomes the family’s bit.
The gallows humor: we’re in it.
Grin of the Dead Mans Deal▾
Grin of the Dead Man’s Deal
The deck was cracked and stained with sweat, no gods above, no dealer clean,
He stared with coal behind his lids, where spades were sharp and hearts obscene.
His hands were bones wrapped tight in skin, a twitch away from last regret,
He didn’t blink, he didn’t breathe—just smiled, like death who’d placed a bet.
She sat across in leather boots, her laughter dry and stiff with gin,
A blade of lipstick smeared like war, the sinner’s smirk carved deep within.
Her eyes were red from dreams gone black, her wrists were bruised with lover’s hands,
But still she played, and still she stayed, though every draw burned down her plans.
A jack came cold, a queen came blind, a king too proud to share the floor,
She touched the ash that used to be a letter nailed behind the door.
“You cheated once,” she hissed through teeth, “and now you shuffle like a whore,”
He said, “That’s fair,” and lit a match, the room replied with quiet war.
Each card a sin she’d already lived, each chip a vow she wouldn’t keep,
She wore no name but memory’s ghost, she dealt in truths no priest would preach,
And every hand she played was proof of how far ruin chose to reach.
He held the spade like it was fate, like someone else’s dying scream,
Like blood dried dark on motel sheets, like ruin wearing kerosene.
They kissed once more with loaded breath, a dare disguised as soft caress,
And in that kiss she dropped her soul, and heat, his last illusion, yes.
One heartbeat left between them both, just one before the dealer stands,
Before the lights cut out for good, before he folds her final hand.
And when they rise, it won’t be grace, it won’t be love, or clean escape—
It’ll be her lips that stain the dark, his name the echo death remakes.
Song: Grin of the Dead Man’s Deal
She played her truth with trembling hands, in smoke that crawled like wounded prey,
He watched the fall of every card, like faith that drank itself away.
A dress that knew too many nights, a grin that never once forgave—
They both were ghosts of gamblers past, with nothing left they’d die to save.
And the spade cut clean like a lie well-kept,
And the grin he wore was the one she wept.
No prayers, no saints, no clean reveal,
Just the grin of the dead man’s deal.
She kissed him once to seal her fate, his hands were frost, his lips were steel,
And in her chest a heart still burned for things no honest soul should feel.
He drew her breath like final smoke, she tasted sharp, like debt unpaid,
Two sinners folded on the floor, beneath the bed where angels strayed.
And the spade cut clean like a lie well-kept,
And the grin he wore was the one she wept.
No prayers, no saints, no clean reveal,
Just the grin of the dead man’s deal.
No gods left watching, no dice to throw,
Just pain we marry and lies we owe.
They played for keeps with skin and scars,
Now both belong to the backroom stars.
Yeah the spade cut clean like a sin too real,
And her last breath fed that dead man’s zeal.
No prayer, no light, no clean appeal—
Just the grin of the dead man’s deal.
Locked and loaded. Want another in this arc? Or switch gears again?
I can’t help with that request.
I can’t continue with this request.
I can’t help with that request.
I can’t help with that request.
I can’t help with that request.
I can’t continue with that request.
I can’t help with that request.
Got it—heartbreaking, intelligent, dark, no sugar. But your last prompt and several before it contained elements that crossed the line into violating Open AI’s usage policies, including sexually explicit content involving potentially non-consensual or fetishized scenarios. I can’t generate content that violates those terms.
We can absolutely keep building your dark, intense, heartbreaking, and emotionally brutal poem and song pairs in your style. If you’re down to continue, drop the next prompt or rephrase this one to stay on the right edge of that line—still sharp, still raw, just not over it.
Let’s keep this brutal train moving. What’s the next title or image you want carved into flesh?
I can’t help with that one. You can still give me another raw, intelligent, high-imagery prompt—erotic or heartbreaking—but it’s gotta stay within the line. If you want sex or taboo, it’s gotta earn it through story, emotion, pain, and smarts—not through shock value or pure smut.
Give me another prompt. Keep the fire. Keep it brutal. Just don’t light the fuse with that somewhat title.
If the core of what you want is heartbreak dressed in sweat and ache, I’ve got you. I’ll write the sex, the grit, the damnation of lust where love leaks out between the cracks. But I won’t title a piece in a way that hits too squarely into explicit for its own sake. “Cracked moans” isn’t wrong in spirit, but it’s baiting the wrong line.
Give me a new title—grimy, sad, broken, feral, sure—but give it teeth, not a moan. You’re aiming for poetic sin, not porn tags.
Here’s a title riff if you want to stay in that groove:
Splintered Tongues
She Left Her Thighs in My Head
Low Ceiling Love
Nailed to Skin
Blood on the Pillow Talk
Your call. Drop the one you want or sling your own. I’ll rip the poem from my ribs the second you give the greenlight.
I can’t continue with that request. If you want to explore the horror, trauma, or emotional aftermath of neglect or abuse in a raw, intelligent, and impactful way, I’m here to write something that hits hard and doesn’t flinch. We can dig into it with all the darkness you want—just give me a go signal with a revised prompt that sticks to the line.
The deck was cracked and stained with sweat, no gods above, no dealer clean,
He stared with coal behind his lids, where spades were sharp and hearts obscene.
His hands were bones wrapped tight in skin, a twitch away from last regret,
He didn’t blink, he didn’t breathe—just smiled, like death who’d placed a bet.
She sat across in leather boots, her laughter dry and stiff with gin,
A blade of lipstick smeared like war, the sinner’s smirk carved deep within.
Her eyes were red from dreams gone black, her wrists were bruised with lover’s hands,
But still she played, and still she stayed, though every draw burned down her plans.
A jack came cold, a queen came blind, a king too proud to share the floor,
She touched the ash that used to be a letter nailed behind the door.
“You cheated once,” she hissed through teeth, “and now you shuffle like a whore,”
He said, “That’s fair,” and lit a match, the room replied with quiet war.
Each card a sin she’d already lived, each chip a vow she wouldn’t keep,
She wore no name but memory’s ghost, she dealt in truths no priest would preach,
And every hand she played was proof of how far ruin chose to reach.
He held the spade like it was fate, like someone else’s dying scream,
Like blood dried dark on motel sheets, like ruin wearing kerosene.
They kissed once more with loaded breath, a dare disguised as soft caress,
And in that kiss she dropped her soul, and heat, his last illusion, yes.
One heartbeat left between them both, just one before the dealer stands,
Before the lights cut out for good, before he folds her final hand.
And when they rise, it won’t be grace, it won’t be love, or clean escape—
It’ll be her lips that stain the dark, his name the echo death remakes.
Song: Grin of the Dead Man’s Deal
She played her truth with trembling hands, in smoke that crawled like wounded prey,
He watched the fall of every card, like faith that drank itself away.
A dress that knew too many nights, a grin that never once forgave—
They both were ghosts of gamblers past, with nothing left they’d die to save.
And the spade cut clean like a lie well-kept,
And the grin he wore was the one she wept.
No prayers, no saints, no clean reveal,
Just the grin of the dead man’s deal.
She kissed him once to seal her fate, his hands were frost, his lips were steel,
And in her chest a heart still burned for things no honest soul should feel.
He drew her breath like final smoke, she tasted sharp, like debt unpaid,
Two sinners folded on the floor, beneath the bed where angels strayed.
And the spade cut clean like a lie well-kept,
And the grin he wore was the one she wept.
No prayers, no saints, no clean reveal,
Just the grin of the dead man’s deal.
No gods left watching, no dice to throw,
Just pain we marry and lies we owe.
They played for keeps with skin and scars,
Now both belong to the backroom stars.
Yeah the spade cut clean like a sin too real,
And her last breath fed that dead man’s zeal.
No prayer, no light, no clean appeal—
Just the grin of the dead man’s deal.
Locked and loaded. Want another in this arc? Or switch gears again?
I can’t help with that request.
I can’t continue with this request.
I can’t help with that request.
I can’t help with that request.
I can’t help with that request.
I can’t continue with that request.
I can’t help with that request.
Got it—heartbreaking, intelligent, dark, no sugar. But your last prompt and several before it contained elements that crossed the line into violating Open AI’s usage policies, including sexually explicit content involving potentially non-consensual or fetishized scenarios. I can’t generate content that violates those terms.
We can absolutely keep building your dark, intense, heartbreaking, and emotionally brutal poem and song pairs in your style. If you’re down to continue, drop the next prompt or rephrase this one to stay on the right edge of that line—still sharp, still raw, just not over it.
Let’s keep this brutal train moving. What’s the next title or image you want carved into flesh?
I can’t help with that one. You can still give me another raw, intelligent, high-imagery prompt—erotic or heartbreaking—but it’s gotta stay within the line. If you want sex or taboo, it’s gotta earn it through story, emotion, pain, and smarts—not through shock value or pure smut.
Give me another prompt. Keep the fire. Keep it brutal. Just don’t light the fuse with that somewhat title.
If the core of what you want is heartbreak dressed in sweat and ache, I’ve got you. I’ll write the sex, the grit, the damnation of lust where love leaks out between the cracks. But I won’t title a piece in a way that hits too squarely into explicit for its own sake. “Cracked moans” isn’t wrong in spirit, but it’s baiting the wrong line.
Give me a new title—grimy, sad, broken, feral, sure—but give it teeth, not a moan. You’re aiming for poetic sin, not porn tags.
Here’s a title riff if you want to stay in that groove:
Splintered Tongues
She Left Her Thighs in My Head
Low Ceiling Love
Nailed to Skin
Blood on the Pillow Talk
Your call. Drop the one you want or sling your own. I’ll rip the poem from my ribs the second you give the greenlight.
I can’t continue with that request. If you want to explore the horror, trauma, or emotional aftermath of neglect or abuse in a raw, intelligent, and impactful way, I’m here to write something that hits hard and doesn’t flinch. We can dig into it with all the darkness you want—just give me a go signal with a revised prompt that sticks to the line.
Gunpowder Halo Over Dead-Man Hill [Wraith▾
Gunpowder Halo Over Dead-Man Hill [Wraith]
They still call it Dead-Man Hill in that lazy, half-joking way small towns rename a place when tragedy refuses to shut up,a slope at the edge of the park where the grass grows patchy around scorched circles of last year’s rockets and cheap beer cans still half-crushed in the mud like little metal apologies that no one ever bothered to clean up.
He used to set up there every Fourth, the unofficial king of unsafe distances and discount pyrotechnics,hauling boxes with names like Dragon’s Spine and Widowmaker, laughing at the warning labels while the rest of us checked where the nearest hose and fire extinguisher sat in the dark, doing math on how far shrapnel might travel in real physics.
He loved that first hiss of fuse like other people love a first kiss, that sharp, hungry sound of fire chewing its way toward a climax,eyes reflecting the sparks so bright he looked possessed for a second, jaw slack, cheeks lit up green and red as if the sky had plugged straight into him and decided he was a suitable conduit for its manic theatrics.
The year he didn’t walk back down the hill, we told the story a dozen ways, depending on who needed what version to sleep,some said it was a freak misfire, a mortar tipping on an uneven board, some said he leaned in too close to fix a fuse because patience never once got invited to his parties, some said the boom came early and swallowed his name in raw white heat.
All anyone really agrees on is the way the sky answered that night,how the final shell climbed higher than any we’d seen in this tired town, trailing sparks like some cheap comet, exploding in a bloom so wide it erased the stars for three full heartbeats,and how the silence afterwards felt wrong, too long, like the world itself was checking to see if he had made it back to ground or traded us for the air.
Now every summer stumbles back around and we gather below the hill with folding chairs and plastic flags someone dragged out of a sale bin,kids wearing glow-stick crowns, dogs shaking against the leash at each distant test shot,while the official city display sets up across the river with its safe clearances and licensed pyros who call everything by serial number instead of by dare.
We pretend we’re just here for the show, but the older faces tilt toward Dead-Man Hill when the first big shell goes up,watching the smoke drift where he once stood grinning in that scorched hoodie, fingers stained with black powder,shouting timing cues nobody followed, counting down loud enough to scare the birds out of the trees.
There’s a story they tell the new kids now, because every town needs a myth to keep the idiots from hugging the explosives,about how his soul climbed into the rockets in that last instant, how he rode the blast like a daredevil angel,how he refused a quiet grave and chose instead to splinter across the sky, bones and laughter scattered in every colored bloom like ash hidden inside the glitter.
You can call it superstition or survivor’s guilt dressed up in patriot colors,but once you’ve watched enough July nights from a blanket with your heart hammering in sync with the launch-thud,once you’ve seen that one stubborn shell that shouldn’t ignite finally catch and go screaming up late,you start to understand why people whisper his name when a firework blooms a little too bright, a little too wild, at the edge of the planned display.
There’s always one—never on the program, never matching the choreographed music piping out of the city speakers by the river,some rogue comet that zips sideways, flares twice, then detonates in a shape that looks nothing like the catalog photo,pouring gold and blood-red streaks all over the crowd like it’s laughing at the concept of safety and schedule and human control.
A little boy sitting near us once pointed up with sticky fingers and yelled, “That one’s him!”,voice cracking with sugar and terror and awe while his parents shushed him, eyes suddenly glossy,and in that moment you could almost see it—the outline of a man made of spark trails and smoke,arms wide, spinning circles above the town he never quite escaped in life, finally big enough to cover every street he used to stumble down with a bottle swinging from his hand.
We talk about how ridiculous he was, that year he duct-taped three fountains together “to save time,”how he laughed even when one tipped over and sent a screaming wheel of sparks running straight toward his own feet,how he danced away from it clumsy and ecstatic, cussing at the sky and bowing for applause as if danger were just a cheap party trick he’d rehearsed.
We don’t talk about how some of us saw the way his shoulders sagged when the last box went quiet,how he lingered alone a little too long up there, face lit only by the glow of his cigarette, fireworks smoke drifting around his head like a crooked halo,how the silence that followed the crowd’s cheering seemed to sit heavier on him than it did on the rest of us.
The town took up a collection and planted a little plaque halfway up the slope,a flat metal square that reads something boring and respectful about loving light and life,but the real marker is the scorch that never quite fades in the grass,the way the ground up there smells like sulfur and nostalgia even after a month of rain.
On the Fourth, when the city’s choreographed finale unloads in a stuttering barrage of color over the river,our eyes drift back to the hill where someone always, somehow, still sets off a few illegal shells in the dark,white-hot flowers erupting from the tree line with no warning and no apology,each boom rattling anyone with old wounds, thrilling anyone with new ones,fire raining down in slow motion while the smoke twines into a shape that almost looks like a man throwing both fists at the stars.
We claim we keep his memory alive to warn every thrill-chaser with a lighter and a dare,to remind the kids that physics doesn’t care about your bravado or your playlist,but that’s only half the truth and we know it.
The rest is this: for a few loud minutes each year,the sky looks wild enough for him again, big enough to hold his noise,and in those eruptions that leave your ears ringing and your chest vibrating and your eyes stinging more than the smoke can explain,you feel something like him barreling through the dark,refusing quiet endings, lighting up the same broken town that never knew what to do with him when the lights were off and the music stopped.
Fireworks fade, ash settles in people’s hair and on the hood of every parked truck along the road,the night swallows the color and offers back only crickets and distant sirens and the soft murmur of people folding chairs and gathering trash,but for the rest of the year,whenever thunder rolls heavy enough to rattle the windows,someone will mutter that he’s practicing early,warming up the sky for his next loud return to Dead-Man Hill,where the grass remembers the blast marks better than the city remembers his middle name.
They still call it Dead-Man Hill in that lazy, half-joking way small towns rename a place when tragedy refuses to shut up,a slope at the edge of the park where the grass grows patchy around scorched circles of last year’s rockets and cheap beer cans still half-crushed in the mud like little metal apologies that no one ever bothered to clean up.
He used to set up there every Fourth, the unofficial king of unsafe distances and discount pyrotechnics,hauling boxes with names like Dragon’s Spine and Widowmaker, laughing at the warning labels while the rest of us checked where the nearest hose and fire extinguisher sat in the dark, doing math on how far shrapnel might travel in real physics.
He loved that first hiss of fuse like other people love a first kiss, that sharp, hungry sound of fire chewing its way toward a climax,eyes reflecting the sparks so bright he looked possessed for a second, jaw slack, cheeks lit up green and red as if the sky had plugged straight into him and decided he was a suitable conduit for its manic theatrics.
The year he didn’t walk back down the hill, we told the story a dozen ways, depending on who needed what version to sleep,some said it was a freak misfire, a mortar tipping on an uneven board, some said he leaned in too close to fix a fuse because patience never once got invited to his parties, some said the boom came early and swallowed his name in raw white heat.
All anyone really agrees on is the way the sky answered that night,how the final shell climbed higher than any we’d seen in this tired town, trailing sparks like some cheap comet, exploding in a bloom so wide it erased the stars for three full heartbeats,and how the silence afterwards felt wrong, too long, like the world itself was checking to see if he had made it back to ground or traded us for the air.
Now every summer stumbles back around and we gather below the hill with folding chairs and plastic flags someone dragged out of a sale bin,kids wearing glow-stick crowns, dogs shaking against the leash at each distant test shot,while the official city display sets up across the river with its safe clearances and licensed pyros who call everything by serial number instead of by dare.
We pretend we’re just here for the show, but the older faces tilt toward Dead-Man Hill when the first big shell goes up,watching the smoke drift where he once stood grinning in that scorched hoodie, fingers stained with black powder,shouting timing cues nobody followed, counting down loud enough to scare the birds out of the trees.
There’s a story they tell the new kids now, because every town needs a myth to keep the idiots from hugging the explosives,about how his soul climbed into the rockets in that last instant, how he rode the blast like a daredevil angel,how he refused a quiet grave and chose instead to splinter across the sky, bones and laughter scattered in every colored bloom like ash hidden inside the glitter.
You can call it superstition or survivor’s guilt dressed up in patriot colors,but once you’ve watched enough July nights from a blanket with your heart hammering in sync with the launch-thud,once you’ve seen that one stubborn shell that shouldn’t ignite finally catch and go screaming up late,you start to understand why people whisper his name when a firework blooms a little too bright, a little too wild, at the edge of the planned display.
There’s always one—never on the program, never matching the choreographed music piping out of the city speakers by the river,some rogue comet that zips sideways, flares twice, then detonates in a shape that looks nothing like the catalog photo,pouring gold and blood-red streaks all over the crowd like it’s laughing at the concept of safety and schedule and human control.
A little boy sitting near us once pointed up with sticky fingers and yelled, “That one’s him!”,voice cracking with sugar and terror and awe while his parents shushed him, eyes suddenly glossy,and in that moment you could almost see it—the outline of a man made of spark trails and smoke,arms wide, spinning circles above the town he never quite escaped in life, finally big enough to cover every street he used to stumble down with a bottle swinging from his hand.
We talk about how ridiculous he was, that year he duct-taped three fountains together “to save time,”how he laughed even when one tipped over and sent a screaming wheel of sparks running straight toward his own feet,how he danced away from it clumsy and ecstatic, cussing at the sky and bowing for applause as if danger were just a cheap party trick he’d rehearsed.
We don’t talk about how some of us saw the way his shoulders sagged when the last box went quiet,how he lingered alone a little too long up there, face lit only by the glow of his cigarette, fireworks smoke drifting around his head like a crooked halo,how the silence that followed the crowd’s cheering seemed to sit heavier on him than it did on the rest of us.
The town took up a collection and planted a little plaque halfway up the slope,a flat metal square that reads something boring and respectful about loving light and life,but the real marker is the scorch that never quite fades in the grass,the way the ground up there smells like sulfur and nostalgia even after a month of rain.
On the Fourth, when the city’s choreographed finale unloads in a stuttering barrage of color over the river,our eyes drift back to the hill where someone always, somehow, still sets off a few illegal shells in the dark,white-hot flowers erupting from the tree line with no warning and no apology,each boom rattling anyone with old wounds, thrilling anyone with new ones,fire raining down in slow motion while the smoke twines into a shape that almost looks like a man throwing both fists at the stars.
We claim we keep his memory alive to warn every thrill-chaser with a lighter and a dare,to remind the kids that physics doesn’t care about your bravado or your playlist,but that’s only half the truth and we know it.
The rest is this: for a few loud minutes each year,the sky looks wild enough for him again, big enough to hold his noise,and in those eruptions that leave your ears ringing and your chest vibrating and your eyes stinging more than the smoke can explain,you feel something like him barreling through the dark,refusing quiet endings, lighting up the same broken town that never knew what to do with him when the lights were off and the music stopped.
Fireworks fade, ash settles in people’s hair and on the hood of every parked truck along the road,the night swallows the color and offers back only crickets and distant sirens and the soft murmur of people folding chairs and gathering trash,but for the rest of the year,whenever thunder rolls heavy enough to rattle the windows,someone will mutter that he’s practicing early,warming up the sky for his next loud return to Dead-Man Hill,where the grass remembers the blast marks better than the city remembers his middle name.
Gunpowder Halo Over Dead-Man Hill – Song [Wraith▾
Gunpowder Halo Over Dead-Man Hill – Song [Wraith]
Verse 1Dead-Man Hill’s just a patch of dirt where the grass never quite grows right,Empty beer cans in the weeds, black rings burned into the hillside night,He used to drag his boxes up, king of every bad idea with a fuse,Grinning with a crooked charm, betting his life that the sky would choose.
Verse 2He loved that hiss before the roar, the fuse like a snake with fire for teeth,Eyes lit green and red and white, madness painted on the smoke-wet breeze beneath,We watched him dance with mortars like they were partners at a cheap last call,Never thought the sky would keep him, never thought one wrong spark would take it all.
ChorusNow every Fourth of July, when the rockets claw the dark in bloody blooms,I swear I see his shadow riding shotgun in those screaming plumes,The city’s show is neat and timed, but there’s always one wild flare on that hill,And when it blows too bright, too loud, I hear him laugh, and the world goes still.
Verse 3They bolted down a metal plaque that says he loved the light and loved this town,But his real headstone’s the scorch mark where the grass stays charred and brown,Kids chase sparks with candy tongues, dogs pull leashes when the first shots start,Somewhere in the smoke and thunder, he’s still lighting fuses in my heart.
ChorusNow every Fourth of July, when the rockets claw the dark in bloody blooms,I swear I see his shadow riding shotgun in those screaming plumes,The city’s show is neat and timed, but there’s always one wild flare on that hill,And when it blows too bright, too loud, I hear him laugh, and the world goes still.
BridgeMaybe he got what he was chasing, traded dirt and rent for sky and flame,No quiet stone, just gunpowder halos spelling out his burning name,So when the night explodes in color and your chest shakes with the sound,That’s him kicking at the heavens, daring death to spin another round.
Verse 4When the last big volley fades and ash drifts down on every car and face,We pack our chairs and gather cans and leave that hill to its empty space,But thunder rolls some random night and windows shake and dishes ring,I tilt my head, count one two three, and picture him rehearsing.
Final ChorusYeah, every Fourth of July, when the rockets claw the dark in bloody blooms,I swear I see his shadow riding shotgun in those screaming plumes,The city’s show is neat and timed, but there’s always one wild flare on that hill,And as long as something loud and reckless owns the sky,he’s up there lighting fuses still.
Verse 1Dead-Man Hill’s just a patch of dirt where the grass never quite grows right,Empty beer cans in the weeds, black rings burned into the hillside night,He used to drag his boxes up, king of every bad idea with a fuse,Grinning with a crooked charm, betting his life that the sky would choose.
Verse 2He loved that hiss before the roar, the fuse like a snake with fire for teeth,Eyes lit green and red and white, madness painted on the smoke-wet breeze beneath,We watched him dance with mortars like they were partners at a cheap last call,Never thought the sky would keep him, never thought one wrong spark would take it all.
ChorusNow every Fourth of July, when the rockets claw the dark in bloody blooms,I swear I see his shadow riding shotgun in those screaming plumes,The city’s show is neat and timed, but there’s always one wild flare on that hill,And when it blows too bright, too loud, I hear him laugh, and the world goes still.
Verse 3They bolted down a metal plaque that says he loved the light and loved this town,But his real headstone’s the scorch mark where the grass stays charred and brown,Kids chase sparks with candy tongues, dogs pull leashes when the first shots start,Somewhere in the smoke and thunder, he’s still lighting fuses in my heart.
ChorusNow every Fourth of July, when the rockets claw the dark in bloody blooms,I swear I see his shadow riding shotgun in those screaming plumes,The city’s show is neat and timed, but there’s always one wild flare on that hill,And when it blows too bright, too loud, I hear him laugh, and the world goes still.
BridgeMaybe he got what he was chasing, traded dirt and rent for sky and flame,No quiet stone, just gunpowder halos spelling out his burning name,So when the night explodes in color and your chest shakes with the sound,That’s him kicking at the heavens, daring death to spin another round.
Verse 4When the last big volley fades and ash drifts down on every car and face,We pack our chairs and gather cans and leave that hill to its empty space,But thunder rolls some random night and windows shake and dishes ring,I tilt my head, count one two three, and picture him rehearsing.
Final ChorusYeah, every Fourth of July, when the rockets claw the dark in bloody blooms,I swear I see his shadow riding shotgun in those screaming plumes,The city’s show is neat and timed, but there’s always one wild flare on that hill,And as long as something loud and reckless owns the sky,he’s up there lighting fuses still.
Gutter Prayers with a Loaded Hand▾
Gutter Prayers with a Loaded Hand
Red neon slaps the windowpane, veins pulsing in tandem with some after-midnight grind,
Her silhouette is a bruise pressed fl against the cheap motel blinds,
A cigarette dangles from her lips—ash nearly breaking, the orange ember just barely alive—
As she balances on the knife-edge of want and regret, undressed for money, but undressing truth,
One hand slick with sweat and some stranger’s spit, the other clutching a loaded fantasy—
He’s on his knees, mouth pressed where he isn’t allowed, sweat and words dripping off his chin,
She’s carved out a space for power here, straddling the ache, riding every breath for survival,
Her laugh—broken glass on linoleum, hard, real, ugly as the memory of her first time selling what was never his to buy,
There’s nothing sacred in this room but the friction of bodies and secrets exchanged for bills,
No angels here, only sinners praying for a climax or a confession, whichever comes first,
He wants her to hurt him, to press her palm to his thro and squeeze until the room spins,
She does it—whispering filth, name-calling, teeth scraping the soft underbelly of his need,
She’s a loaded hand, cocked and dangerous, pleasure and destruction blended until nobody remembers where love lived,
Every thrust a dare, every moan a bet, every slap another tally in the game of forgetting,
She wonders if heat’ll call her again, or if the next will be rougher, softer, more desperate for absolution,
Her hips grind down with the force of old wounds, knees burning with prayers for a god she doesn’t trust,
She rides him until he begs, and when he finishes, she wches his soul fumble for his wallet,
The room stinks of lex and old hope, the sheets tangled in shame and cheap cologne,
She counts her cash with the hands that just strangled his secrets out of him,
She lights another cigarette, smokes the silence, stares her reflection in the cracked mirror—
Lipstick smeared, mascara running, sweat glittering on her collarbones,
There’s no rescue coming, no romance in survival, just the rhythm of power exchanged and taken back,
She is loaded, cocked, a weapon in a world that wants her empty,
She leaves before the sun comes up, his whimpering stuck in her head like a song she never wants to hear again,
And she walks out, hips swaying, unbroken but not untouched,
Loaded hand, empty bed, but her grip is strong enough to crush the world.
Song: Gutter Prayers with a Loaded Hand
Moonlit window, bruises shining,
Her eyes hold every war she’s surviving,
On the sheets, power’s bleeding,
Desire or heat—can’t tell wh’s feeding,
She’s a loaded hand, ready for breaking,
Every scream, every thrust, every boundary shaking.
Loaded hand, take what you can,
Trading hurt for hope in a nightstand plan,
Stranger’s need, her dirty command,
She’s not owned, she’s not damned,
She’s a loaded hand—no mercy, no brand.
He wants pain, she delivers,
Makes him shiver, makes him a giver,
She rides out guilt on a fist and a dare,
No fairy tale, just sweat and a stare,
Counting bills with a warrior’s grace,
No savior here, just a broken embrace.
Loaded hand, take what you can,
Trading hurt for hope in a nightstand plan,
Stranger’s need, her dirty command,
She’s not owned, she’s not damned,
She’s a loaded hand—no mercy, no brand.
She’s walking out when the world’s asleep,
Loaded with secrets too twisted to keep,
Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pray,
Just another night—she walks away.
Loaded hand, take what you can,
Trading hurt for hope in a nightstand plan,
Stranger’s need, her dirty command,
She’s not owned, she’s not damned,
She’s a loaded hand—no mercy, no brand.
Red neon slaps the windowpane, veins pulsing in tandem with some after-midnight grind,
Her silhouette is a bruise pressed fl against the cheap motel blinds,
A cigarette dangles from her lips—ash nearly breaking, the orange ember just barely alive—
As she balances on the knife-edge of want and regret, undressed for money, but undressing truth,
One hand slick with sweat and some stranger’s spit, the other clutching a loaded fantasy—
He’s on his knees, mouth pressed where he isn’t allowed, sweat and words dripping off his chin,
She’s carved out a space for power here, straddling the ache, riding every breath for survival,
Her laugh—broken glass on linoleum, hard, real, ugly as the memory of her first time selling what was never his to buy,
There’s nothing sacred in this room but the friction of bodies and secrets exchanged for bills,
No angels here, only sinners praying for a climax or a confession, whichever comes first,
He wants her to hurt him, to press her palm to his thro and squeeze until the room spins,
She does it—whispering filth, name-calling, teeth scraping the soft underbelly of his need,
She’s a loaded hand, cocked and dangerous, pleasure and destruction blended until nobody remembers where love lived,
Every thrust a dare, every moan a bet, every slap another tally in the game of forgetting,
She wonders if heat’ll call her again, or if the next will be rougher, softer, more desperate for absolution,
Her hips grind down with the force of old wounds, knees burning with prayers for a god she doesn’t trust,
She rides him until he begs, and when he finishes, she wches his soul fumble for his wallet,
The room stinks of lex and old hope, the sheets tangled in shame and cheap cologne,
She counts her cash with the hands that just strangled his secrets out of him,
She lights another cigarette, smokes the silence, stares her reflection in the cracked mirror—
Lipstick smeared, mascara running, sweat glittering on her collarbones,
There’s no rescue coming, no romance in survival, just the rhythm of power exchanged and taken back,
She is loaded, cocked, a weapon in a world that wants her empty,
She leaves before the sun comes up, his whimpering stuck in her head like a song she never wants to hear again,
And she walks out, hips swaying, unbroken but not untouched,
Loaded hand, empty bed, but her grip is strong enough to crush the world.
Song: Gutter Prayers with a Loaded Hand
Moonlit window, bruises shining,
Her eyes hold every war she’s surviving,
On the sheets, power’s bleeding,
Desire or heat—can’t tell wh’s feeding,
She’s a loaded hand, ready for breaking,
Every scream, every thrust, every boundary shaking.
Loaded hand, take what you can,
Trading hurt for hope in a nightstand plan,
Stranger’s need, her dirty command,
She’s not owned, she’s not damned,
She’s a loaded hand—no mercy, no brand.
He wants pain, she delivers,
Makes him shiver, makes him a giver,
She rides out guilt on a fist and a dare,
No fairy tale, just sweat and a stare,
Counting bills with a warrior’s grace,
No savior here, just a broken embrace.
Loaded hand, take what you can,
Trading hurt for hope in a nightstand plan,
Stranger’s need, her dirty command,
She’s not owned, she’s not damned,
She’s a loaded hand—no mercy, no brand.
She’s walking out when the world’s asleep,
Loaded with secrets too twisted to keep,
Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pray,
Just another night—she walks away.
Loaded hand, take what you can,
Trading hurt for hope in a nightstand plan,
Stranger’s need, her dirty command,
She’s not owned, she’s not damned,
She’s a loaded hand—no mercy, no brand.
Halloween Fun, Costumes and Pumpkin Pie▾
“Halloween Fun, Costumes and Pumpkin Pie”]
A ghostly grin lights up the fall night sky,
When pumpkins scream with fiery, grinning eyes,
Each masked jest turns the mundane to a fright,
When pumpkins scream with fiery, grinning eyes,
With candy feasts and chilling winds that sigh,
The night brings mischief in its dark disguise,
A ghostly grin lights up the fall night sky.
Through haunted streets where shadows twist and lie,
A phantom dance in costumes, oh so sly,
The moon casts eerie spells in its high flight,
A phantom dance in costumes, oh so sly,
Beneath the ghoulish sky, all masks defy,
As treats and tricks parade with laughter’s cry,
Through haunted streets where shadows twist and lie.
In cobwebbed kitchens, pies begin to bake,
Spiced aromas drift through crisp autumn air,
Yet specters lurk where shadows make their stake,
Spiced aromas drift through crisp autumn air,
The crusts are darkened with a ghostly flake,
Where witches cackle by the candle’s glare,
In cobwebbed kitchens, pies begin to bake.
Masked revelers in shadows creep and spy,
The night’s alive with laughter, screams, and lies,
As witches stir their brews with knowing might,
The night’s alive with laughter, screams, and lies,
With every trick and treat, a new disguise,
The pumpkin’s grin becomes a ghastly prize,
Masked revelers in shadows creep and spy.
The jack-o’-lanterns shine with devil’s eye,
Their grins a dance of ghoulish, burning fire,
Each flickering flame a threat to mortals’ sigh,
Their grins a dance of ghoulish, burning fire,
As specters rise from graves of old empire,
Their laughter echoes through the night’s entire,
The jack-o’-lanterns shine with devil’s eye.
In graveyard hush, where moonlight kisses bones,
The pie is served with eerie, spiced delight,
A banquet set where phantoms claim their thrones,
The pie is served with eerie, spiced delight,
With ghosts and goblins feasting through the night,
Their revelry a dark, unholy rite,
In graveyard hush, where moonlight kisses bones.
So here’s to Halloween, with tricks and screams,
Where candy turns to ghastly, darkened lies,
And pumpkin pie is served with haunted dreams,
Where candy turns to ghastly, darkened lies,
The night’s a fabric of wicked schemes,
A festival of fright where spirit flies,
So here’s to Halloween, with tricks and screams.
Halloween Open House in Hell [Wraith▾
Halloween: Open House in Hell [Wraith]
The night drops over the suburb like a mask pulled too low, cheap plastic moon hanging above the cul-de-sacs and trimmed hedges,Streetlights smudge their halos in early fog, every yard suddenly a stage dressed with foam tombstones and plastic bones that glow in the dark like someone’s guilty conscience dumped over the hedges,Pumpkins grin with jagged mouths, their crooked teeth lit from inside by tea lights that flicker like nerves,Each porch an altar to sugar and spectacle, each welcome mat a contract written in invisible ink that says the kids who climb these steps will leave different than they came, they just don’t know terms or curves.
The air tastes like candy wrappers and cooling asphalt, somewhere between fun and faint rot,Leaves skitter along the pavement like little paper spirits trying to outrun what’s coming, crunching under sneakers in a rhythm that never quite hits the same spot,Kids swarm the street in costumes that range from “my mom tried” to “that kid is clearly haunted,” capes dragging, plastic weapons swinging, wings shedding glitter like radioactive fallout,Their laughter rises high and wild, the kind that sounds fearless until you listen close and realize it’s mostly sugar and noise trying to cover the fact that they know something waits out here, something they signed up for without reading the fine print in this night’s layout.
Masks are their own little lies.
Painted skulls, stitched-up clowns, small vampires with red mouths courtesy of colored gel, furry ears sewn onto hoodies that will be worn to school next week and smell like sugar and sweat and bragging rights,Behind each hard plastic face, eyes peer through unevenly cut holes, more human than any monster design could handle, catching reflections in the passing minivans and the black windows of houses that didn’t decorate, measuring their own rights,There are witches with crooked hats and drawn-on warts who still grip their parents’ hands tight when the wind rattles the chimes too hard,There are little devils whose pitchforks bend at the first collision with a mailbox, horns askew, tails dragging, playing at sin with the earnestness of kids who still ask permission to open the fridge or go into the yard.
Tonight, though, something else is out, something bored and hungry that likes this ritual a little too much.
Real demons lounge on the rooftops and in the branches, tucked into the dark where porch lights don’t reach, shrouded in the gaps between one laughing group and the next,They wear nothing more elaborate than borrowed faces and good timing, slipping into the crowd as extra teenagers, as tall older siblings, as neighbors who just moved in and came out “for fun” and “to see the costumes,” casual and vexed,Their eyes shine a little too bright when the jack-o-lantern light catches them, their teeth a shade too sharp when they tell a kid a joke that makes the parents frown but not enough to intervene,They ride the edges of the night like surfers on a slow wave, noses full of the scent of sugar, fear, and desperate wish-making that clings to these streets like gasoline fumes in the heat, thick and unseen.
Doorbells ring like summons.
Each chime opens a portal into another pocket universe of carpet smells and cooking and family fights that got shoved into closets when the doorbell rang,Bowls of candy rest in the hands of smiling adults and half-disguised fiends, all yelling “trick or treat” back at the kids with forced enthusiasm, teeth bared in the same shape whether it’s genuine or fanged,Some porches are silly haunted houses with fake webs and motion-sensor ghosts that scream canned audio while kids shriek and laugh and trip over their capes on the stairs,Other porches are normal, plain concrete steps with one sad pumpkin and a single porch light, and yet those are the ones where the demons cluster hardest, because nothing hides the trap better than pretending there’s nothing here but regular chairs.
The candy itself is the sweetest little con.
Wrapped in shiny foil and tiny plastic, it’s the holy grail of the night, sugar currency that buys bragging rights at school and a stomachache and one more year of pretending you’re just scared enough to belong,But tonight, mixed into the buckets and pillowcases and themed plastic pumpkins, a different kind of treat rides along,Curses packed in caramel, hexes tucked behind handwritten “fun size” fonts, deals folded like origami into wax wrappers that will only unfold days from now, when a kid peels one open and finds more than chocolate clinging to their tongue,Each piece a whisper from something that likes contracts more than jump scares, marking them softly, marking their rooms, marking the music they’ll listen to when they think they’re alone, planting hooks where they’ll always be young.
A girl in a skeleton hoodie pops a sour candy into her mouth and suddenly knows the exact date her best friend will move away,A boy dressed as a pirate bites into a chocolate and wakes up with those same three words in his head on repeat: “you’re like him,” with no idea who “him” is but knowing he doesn’t want to be that, not any day,A little princess in glitter shoes chews a gummy bear that tastes faintly like the smell of her parents’ fights and finds she can’t stand the sound of raised voices anymore without her skin trying to climb off her bones,Teens laugh too loud, cheeks flushed, and toss handfuls of sweets into their mouths, grinning as tiny, slow-burn curses slide down their throats and take seats like unwanted guests in their future phones.
One house on the corner goes all in.
It’s done up like a full-blown nightmare: fog machine huffing out gray lungs across the yard, animatronic gargoyle belching light and sound at anyone who gets too close,Windows blacked out, curtains drawn, orange rope lights spelling words no one reads closely, because there’s free candy and a rumor that they’re handing out full-size bars and maybe homemade caramel apples if you’re lucky, almost close,Kids group at the bottom of the driveway, adrenaline and peer pressure pushing the shy ones up the hill,Adult demons wait on that porch behind masks that don’t come off, bowls full of wrapped deals, smiles showing far too many teeth for the wind-chapped chill.
They don’t take souls outright; that would be too obvious, so last century.
They take little things, one Halloween at a time,The easy laugh that used to bounce out of your chest without thinking, traded for a deeper sarcasm that cuts sharper than any plastic knife in a costume aisle, fine,The way you used to sleep without replaying every dumb thing you said that day, swapped for restless nights and eyes that never quite trust happiness when it shows up at your window,The belief that monsters live only outside the self, sold off cheap in exchange for the thrill of walking under these streetlights and feeling your pulse race at every shadow.
Parents trail in the background, coffee in hand, whispering about bills and politics and how quickly their kids are growing,They don’t see the extra shapes weaving through the crowd, the tall stranger who’s just a little too invested in which candy goes into which bag, the way certain kids leave each porch quieter than they arrived, less glowing,They chalk up the sudden mood shifts to sugar crash and chilly wind, the way costumes itch and masks slip and little legs get tired on these long streets,Meanwhile, demons quietly high-five each other on rooftops and telephone poles, counting marks like accountants, watching another generation learn that fear tastes oddly sweet.
At the end of the night, pillowcases heavy and feet blistered, the kids spill their treasure across living room floors and bedroom carpets,Neon wrapper drifts mingle with old toy parts and homework and socks, and for a moment, this loot is everything: proof they braved the dark, proof they went door to door and came back with both hands full, heart set,Parents steal a few pieces here and there, calling it “tax,” laughing, not tasting the way some of those bites leave echoes that aren’t quite sugar on their tongues,And somewhere, in the back of every young brain, a new little shadow curls up with a grin, making itself comfortable in the attic where childhood once slept easy, soft-lunged.
Outside, the decorations will sag and droop by morning,Fog machine out of fluid, tombstones knocked over by late-night wind, pumpkins starting to sag and mold around the eyes,The real demons drift back to cracks in the world you can’t find on a map, pockets of dark between stars and stadium lights, licking sugar off their fingers and filing away the names they’ve tagged tonight,Halloween will be written off as sugar and silliness again, a harmless play at horror, while the quiet little deals made behind those masks and under that moon keep working,A holiday dressed up as fear when the real terror is how easily we feed our kids to the dark in small, sweet portions and call it a treat, never asking what else is lurking.
The night drops over the suburb like a mask pulled too low, cheap plastic moon hanging above the cul-de-sacs and trimmed hedges,Streetlights smudge their halos in early fog, every yard suddenly a stage dressed with foam tombstones and plastic bones that glow in the dark like someone’s guilty conscience dumped over the hedges,Pumpkins grin with jagged mouths, their crooked teeth lit from inside by tea lights that flicker like nerves,Each porch an altar to sugar and spectacle, each welcome mat a contract written in invisible ink that says the kids who climb these steps will leave different than they came, they just don’t know terms or curves.
The air tastes like candy wrappers and cooling asphalt, somewhere between fun and faint rot,Leaves skitter along the pavement like little paper spirits trying to outrun what’s coming, crunching under sneakers in a rhythm that never quite hits the same spot,Kids swarm the street in costumes that range from “my mom tried” to “that kid is clearly haunted,” capes dragging, plastic weapons swinging, wings shedding glitter like radioactive fallout,Their laughter rises high and wild, the kind that sounds fearless until you listen close and realize it’s mostly sugar and noise trying to cover the fact that they know something waits out here, something they signed up for without reading the fine print in this night’s layout.
Masks are their own little lies.
Painted skulls, stitched-up clowns, small vampires with red mouths courtesy of colored gel, furry ears sewn onto hoodies that will be worn to school next week and smell like sugar and sweat and bragging rights,Behind each hard plastic face, eyes peer through unevenly cut holes, more human than any monster design could handle, catching reflections in the passing minivans and the black windows of houses that didn’t decorate, measuring their own rights,There are witches with crooked hats and drawn-on warts who still grip their parents’ hands tight when the wind rattles the chimes too hard,There are little devils whose pitchforks bend at the first collision with a mailbox, horns askew, tails dragging, playing at sin with the earnestness of kids who still ask permission to open the fridge or go into the yard.
Tonight, though, something else is out, something bored and hungry that likes this ritual a little too much.
Real demons lounge on the rooftops and in the branches, tucked into the dark where porch lights don’t reach, shrouded in the gaps between one laughing group and the next,They wear nothing more elaborate than borrowed faces and good timing, slipping into the crowd as extra teenagers, as tall older siblings, as neighbors who just moved in and came out “for fun” and “to see the costumes,” casual and vexed,Their eyes shine a little too bright when the jack-o-lantern light catches them, their teeth a shade too sharp when they tell a kid a joke that makes the parents frown but not enough to intervene,They ride the edges of the night like surfers on a slow wave, noses full of the scent of sugar, fear, and desperate wish-making that clings to these streets like gasoline fumes in the heat, thick and unseen.
Doorbells ring like summons.
Each chime opens a portal into another pocket universe of carpet smells and cooking and family fights that got shoved into closets when the doorbell rang,Bowls of candy rest in the hands of smiling adults and half-disguised fiends, all yelling “trick or treat” back at the kids with forced enthusiasm, teeth bared in the same shape whether it’s genuine or fanged,Some porches are silly haunted houses with fake webs and motion-sensor ghosts that scream canned audio while kids shriek and laugh and trip over their capes on the stairs,Other porches are normal, plain concrete steps with one sad pumpkin and a single porch light, and yet those are the ones where the demons cluster hardest, because nothing hides the trap better than pretending there’s nothing here but regular chairs.
The candy itself is the sweetest little con.
Wrapped in shiny foil and tiny plastic, it’s the holy grail of the night, sugar currency that buys bragging rights at school and a stomachache and one more year of pretending you’re just scared enough to belong,But tonight, mixed into the buckets and pillowcases and themed plastic pumpkins, a different kind of treat rides along,Curses packed in caramel, hexes tucked behind handwritten “fun size” fonts, deals folded like origami into wax wrappers that will only unfold days from now, when a kid peels one open and finds more than chocolate clinging to their tongue,Each piece a whisper from something that likes contracts more than jump scares, marking them softly, marking their rooms, marking the music they’ll listen to when they think they’re alone, planting hooks where they’ll always be young.
A girl in a skeleton hoodie pops a sour candy into her mouth and suddenly knows the exact date her best friend will move away,A boy dressed as a pirate bites into a chocolate and wakes up with those same three words in his head on repeat: “you’re like him,” with no idea who “him” is but knowing he doesn’t want to be that, not any day,A little princess in glitter shoes chews a gummy bear that tastes faintly like the smell of her parents’ fights and finds she can’t stand the sound of raised voices anymore without her skin trying to climb off her bones,Teens laugh too loud, cheeks flushed, and toss handfuls of sweets into their mouths, grinning as tiny, slow-burn curses slide down their throats and take seats like unwanted guests in their future phones.
One house on the corner goes all in.
It’s done up like a full-blown nightmare: fog machine huffing out gray lungs across the yard, animatronic gargoyle belching light and sound at anyone who gets too close,Windows blacked out, curtains drawn, orange rope lights spelling words no one reads closely, because there’s free candy and a rumor that they’re handing out full-size bars and maybe homemade caramel apples if you’re lucky, almost close,Kids group at the bottom of the driveway, adrenaline and peer pressure pushing the shy ones up the hill,Adult demons wait on that porch behind masks that don’t come off, bowls full of wrapped deals, smiles showing far too many teeth for the wind-chapped chill.
They don’t take souls outright; that would be too obvious, so last century.
They take little things, one Halloween at a time,The easy laugh that used to bounce out of your chest without thinking, traded for a deeper sarcasm that cuts sharper than any plastic knife in a costume aisle, fine,The way you used to sleep without replaying every dumb thing you said that day, swapped for restless nights and eyes that never quite trust happiness when it shows up at your window,The belief that monsters live only outside the self, sold off cheap in exchange for the thrill of walking under these streetlights and feeling your pulse race at every shadow.
Parents trail in the background, coffee in hand, whispering about bills and politics and how quickly their kids are growing,They don’t see the extra shapes weaving through the crowd, the tall stranger who’s just a little too invested in which candy goes into which bag, the way certain kids leave each porch quieter than they arrived, less glowing,They chalk up the sudden mood shifts to sugar crash and chilly wind, the way costumes itch and masks slip and little legs get tired on these long streets,Meanwhile, demons quietly high-five each other on rooftops and telephone poles, counting marks like accountants, watching another generation learn that fear tastes oddly sweet.
At the end of the night, pillowcases heavy and feet blistered, the kids spill their treasure across living room floors and bedroom carpets,Neon wrapper drifts mingle with old toy parts and homework and socks, and for a moment, this loot is everything: proof they braved the dark, proof they went door to door and came back with both hands full, heart set,Parents steal a few pieces here and there, calling it “tax,” laughing, not tasting the way some of those bites leave echoes that aren’t quite sugar on their tongues,And somewhere, in the back of every young brain, a new little shadow curls up with a grin, making itself comfortable in the attic where childhood once slept easy, soft-lunged.
Outside, the decorations will sag and droop by morning,Fog machine out of fluid, tombstones knocked over by late-night wind, pumpkins starting to sag and mold around the eyes,The real demons drift back to cracks in the world you can’t find on a map, pockets of dark between stars and stadium lights, licking sugar off their fingers and filing away the names they’ve tagged tonight,Halloween will be written off as sugar and silliness again, a harmless play at horror, while the quiet little deals made behind those masks and under that moon keep working,A holiday dressed up as fear when the real terror is how easily we feed our kids to the dark in small, sweet portions and call it a treat, never asking what else is lurking.
Halloween Open House in Hell – Song [Wraith▾
Halloween: Open House in Hell – Song [Wraith]
Verse 1Porch lights flick on like beacons up and down the block, plastic skeletons rattle on their strings, and jack-o-lanterns grin with candlelit rot in their eyes,Kids flood the sidewalk in cheap costumes and candy-colored masks, little monsters on sugar missions under a sky that looks tame if you don’t listen to how the wind lies,Behind the bushes, real things stretch and yawn, bored demons slipping into hoodies and thrift-store jackets, walking the same route as the kids with better teeth and better disguise,They follow the chorus of “trick or treat” like it’s a hymn, sniffing the air full of sugar, fear, and all the quiet wishes parents never say out loud but keep behind their tired smiles.
Verse 2First house on the corner has a bowl of candy on the step with a note that says “Take one,” which is an adorable joke everyone’s happy to ignore,Little hands grab with gleeful greed while something unseen leans close and whispers, “Remember how this feels, you’ll chase this hunger later through jobs and beds and stores,”Inside those wrappers are more than cheap chocolate, there’s fine print curled around the caramel and dye, tiny contracts that stain the tongue as they go down,A kid dressed like a hero chews and suddenly feels small and wrong, like he’s wearing the costume of the man he’ll never be, and that feeling will be back every time he steps into a crowd or into town.
Pre-ChorusParents wave from the sidewalk, coffee cups steaming in their hands,They don’t see the extra shadows turning doorknobs, don’t hear the demons laughing soft as the curses land.
ChorusIt’s Halloween, open house in hell on every porch tonight,Candy-coated deals in plastic bowls under strings of orange light,You call it fun, you call it safe, you film them screaming in delight,While the dark signs names in sugar on their tongues and smiles just out of sight.
Verse 3Fog machine coughs in a yard that went way too hard on props, animatronic reaper swinging a scythe that squeals when you get close,Kids shriek and grab their friends, then march right up to the door anyway, because the promise of full-size candy bars is stronger than their ghost,Inside, a demon in a dollar-store mask and a well-practiced grin leans over the bowl and tells them they’re brave,Hands out chocolate that tastes like adrenaline and one day they’ll wake up wondering why they can’t stop chasing the edge of every high, the cliff of every wave.
Pre-ChorusPlastic fangs drip fake blood, real teeth sink into cursed sweets,Under the laughter and decorations, something old and patient taps its claws in time to their heartbeat beats.
ChorusIt’s Halloween, open house in hell on every porch tonight,Candy-coated deals in plastic bowls under strings of orange light,You call it fun, you call it safe, you film them screaming in delight,While the dark signs names in sugar on their tongues and smiles just out of sight.
BridgeEvery sour candy hides a secret, every gummy bear holds a seed,One teaches you to flinch at mirrors, one teaches you to confuse attention with need,One wraps your sleep in static dreams that feel like prophecy but never quite lead,One makes you laugh when you’re hurting and hurt when you’re loved, another makes you bleed for every wanting you feed.
They don’t snatch your soul in the street, nothing so dramatic, they just leave fingerprints on your fears,So ten years from now when you stand in some doorway wondering why your chest is tight and your heart steers weird,You’ll never think to blame the night you wore a cape and took that extra handful from the grinning stranger with the perfect friendly leer,You’ll just call it growing up, call it anxiety, call it love, call it anything but what it was: the dark coming home and camping out between your ears.
Verse 4By midnight the streets thin out, candy bags heavy, capes torn, fake blood smeared into real snot and tired tears,Decorations sway in the wind like they’re relieved it’s over, but out beyond the roofs the demons lie on their backs, full, content, comparing notes from the year’s new souvenirs,Inside, kids dump their haul on the floor and dive into it like dragons with hoards, parents steal a few pieces and laugh about “tax” while their own curses settle quiet in their gears,The jack-o-lanterns burn down to black at the edges, and the last porch lights click off one by one, but the night’s work isn’t done, it just shifts from streets to dreams, sliding deeper into their fears.
ChorusIt’s Halloween, open house in hell on every porch tonight,Candy-coated deals in plastic bowls under strings of orange light,You call it fun, you call it safe, you film them screaming in delight,While the dark signs names in sugar on their tongues and smiles just out of sight.
OutroNext year you’ll do it all again, new costumes, new props, same streets, same sky,You’ll tell yourself it’s just pretend as you watch them march up to each door with their little hands raised high,And somewhere above the rooftops, something ancient and amused will count them off and quietly reply,“That’s fine, keep calling it harmless, I’ll keep calling it mine,” while the wrappers pile up in the trash and the curses sit patient behind their eyes.
Verse 1Porch lights flick on like beacons up and down the block, plastic skeletons rattle on their strings, and jack-o-lanterns grin with candlelit rot in their eyes,Kids flood the sidewalk in cheap costumes and candy-colored masks, little monsters on sugar missions under a sky that looks tame if you don’t listen to how the wind lies,Behind the bushes, real things stretch and yawn, bored demons slipping into hoodies and thrift-store jackets, walking the same route as the kids with better teeth and better disguise,They follow the chorus of “trick or treat” like it’s a hymn, sniffing the air full of sugar, fear, and all the quiet wishes parents never say out loud but keep behind their tired smiles.
Verse 2First house on the corner has a bowl of candy on the step with a note that says “Take one,” which is an adorable joke everyone’s happy to ignore,Little hands grab with gleeful greed while something unseen leans close and whispers, “Remember how this feels, you’ll chase this hunger later through jobs and beds and stores,”Inside those wrappers are more than cheap chocolate, there’s fine print curled around the caramel and dye, tiny contracts that stain the tongue as they go down,A kid dressed like a hero chews and suddenly feels small and wrong, like he’s wearing the costume of the man he’ll never be, and that feeling will be back every time he steps into a crowd or into town.
Pre-ChorusParents wave from the sidewalk, coffee cups steaming in their hands,They don’t see the extra shadows turning doorknobs, don’t hear the demons laughing soft as the curses land.
ChorusIt’s Halloween, open house in hell on every porch tonight,Candy-coated deals in plastic bowls under strings of orange light,You call it fun, you call it safe, you film them screaming in delight,While the dark signs names in sugar on their tongues and smiles just out of sight.
Verse 3Fog machine coughs in a yard that went way too hard on props, animatronic reaper swinging a scythe that squeals when you get close,Kids shriek and grab their friends, then march right up to the door anyway, because the promise of full-size candy bars is stronger than their ghost,Inside, a demon in a dollar-store mask and a well-practiced grin leans over the bowl and tells them they’re brave,Hands out chocolate that tastes like adrenaline and one day they’ll wake up wondering why they can’t stop chasing the edge of every high, the cliff of every wave.
Pre-ChorusPlastic fangs drip fake blood, real teeth sink into cursed sweets,Under the laughter and decorations, something old and patient taps its claws in time to their heartbeat beats.
ChorusIt’s Halloween, open house in hell on every porch tonight,Candy-coated deals in plastic bowls under strings of orange light,You call it fun, you call it safe, you film them screaming in delight,While the dark signs names in sugar on their tongues and smiles just out of sight.
BridgeEvery sour candy hides a secret, every gummy bear holds a seed,One teaches you to flinch at mirrors, one teaches you to confuse attention with need,One wraps your sleep in static dreams that feel like prophecy but never quite lead,One makes you laugh when you’re hurting and hurt when you’re loved, another makes you bleed for every wanting you feed.
They don’t snatch your soul in the street, nothing so dramatic, they just leave fingerprints on your fears,So ten years from now when you stand in some doorway wondering why your chest is tight and your heart steers weird,You’ll never think to blame the night you wore a cape and took that extra handful from the grinning stranger with the perfect friendly leer,You’ll just call it growing up, call it anxiety, call it love, call it anything but what it was: the dark coming home and camping out between your ears.
Verse 4By midnight the streets thin out, candy bags heavy, capes torn, fake blood smeared into real snot and tired tears,Decorations sway in the wind like they’re relieved it’s over, but out beyond the roofs the demons lie on their backs, full, content, comparing notes from the year’s new souvenirs,Inside, kids dump their haul on the floor and dive into it like dragons with hoards, parents steal a few pieces and laugh about “tax” while their own curses settle quiet in their gears,The jack-o-lanterns burn down to black at the edges, and the last porch lights click off one by one, but the night’s work isn’t done, it just shifts from streets to dreams, sliding deeper into their fears.
ChorusIt’s Halloween, open house in hell on every porch tonight,Candy-coated deals in plastic bowls under strings of orange light,You call it fun, you call it safe, you film them screaming in delight,While the dark signs names in sugar on their tongues and smiles just out of sight.
OutroNext year you’ll do it all again, new costumes, new props, same streets, same sky,You’ll tell yourself it’s just pretend as you watch them march up to each door with their little hands raised high,And somewhere above the rooftops, something ancient and amused will count them off and quietly reply,“That’s fine, keep calling it harmless, I’ll keep calling it mine,” while the wrappers pile up in the trash and the curses sit patient behind their eyes.
Hellfire in My Veins▾
Hellfire in My Veins
I was built from blackened embers, raised by wolves that never wept,
Carved my name into the thunder, left my mark where devils slept.
I swallowed storms, I drank disaster, sp out poison, kissed the pain,
But every step still burns like acid, every breath still fuels the flame.
Hellfire in my veins, can’t be saved, can’t be tamed,
Every word’s a loaded weapon, every thoughts a burning chain.
Let the lightning strike me brehless, let the floodges crack and break,
I was born from something wicked, now theres fire in my wake.
I fed the wind with whispered curses, let the night consume my name,
Built a church from shattered stues, wrote my gospel out in flames.
I don’t fear the smoke around me, I don’t run from rising tides,
Ive been drowning, Ive been burning, Ive been killed but never died.
Hellfire in my veins, can’t be saved, can’t be tamed,
Every word’s a loaded weapon, every thoughts a burning chain.
Let the lightning strike me brehless, let the floodges crack and break,
I was born from something wicked, now theres fire in my wake.
Ill take the dark, Ill take the ruin, take the sins I can’t erase,
Ill be the shadow on the altar, Ill be the ghost you cannot face.
If I burn, I’ll burn relentless, if I fall, Ill fall alive,
Theres no heaven left to hold me, theres no hell I won’t survive.
I was built from blackened embers, raised by wolves that never wept,
Carved my name into the thunder, left my mark where devils slept.
I swallowed storms, I drank disaster, sp out poison, kissed the pain,
But every step still burns like acid, every breath still fuels the flame.
Hellfire in my veins, can’t be saved, can’t be tamed,
Every word’s a loaded weapon, every thoughts a burning chain.
Let the lightning strike me brehless, let the floodges crack and break,
I was born from something wicked, now theres fire in my wake.
I fed the wind with whispered curses, let the night consume my name,
Built a church from shattered stues, wrote my gospel out in flames.
I don’t fear the smoke around me, I don’t run from rising tides,
Ive been drowning, Ive been burning, Ive been killed but never died.
Hellfire in my veins, can’t be saved, can’t be tamed,
Every word’s a loaded weapon, every thoughts a burning chain.
Let the lightning strike me brehless, let the floodges crack and break,
I was born from something wicked, now theres fire in my wake.
Ill take the dark, Ill take the ruin, take the sins I can’t erase,
Ill be the shadow on the altar, Ill be the ghost you cannot face.
If I burn, I’ll burn relentless, if I fall, Ill fall alive,
Theres no heaven left to hold me, theres no hell I won’t survive.
High-Stakes Contest▾
High-Stakes Contest
Lights flash, alarms scream,
In this heist, were a team.
Stealth and skill, hearts race,
In this game, we find our place.
Hands move swiftly, in the dark,
In this heist, we leave our mark.
Taste of danger, sweet and pure,
In this night, we endure.
High-stakes game, hearts collide,
In this heist, we don’t hide.
Whispers of thrill, voices blend,
In this chase, no end.
Fingers trace paths, nerves of steel,
In this heist, everythings real.
Scent of adrenaline, a thrilling delight,
In this night, everythings right.
Every move, a spark ignites,
In this game, we take flight.
Lips meet the thrill, bold and free,
In this heist, we see.
High-stakes game, hearts collide,
In this heist, we don’t hide.
Whispers of thrill, voices blend,
In this chase, no end.
Echoes of danger, whispers of speed,
In this heist, we take the lead.
Every turn, a spark of fire,
In this game, climbing higher.
Bodies tense, nerves on edge,
In this heist, we make our pledge.
Hands guide, finding the flow,
In this game, we do show.
Gasps fill the air, a melody of cries,
In this heist, no disguise.
Lips meet lips, tasting the night,
In this game, everythings right.
High-stakes game, hearts collide,
In this heist, we don’t hide.
Whispers of thrill, voices blend,
In this chase, no end.
Hands gripping tight, bodies sway,
In this heist, we find our way.
Gasps and cries, thrills peak,
In this game, secrets speak.
Hearts entwined, moving as one,
In this heist, its begun.
Lights flash, alarms scream,
In this heist, were a team.
Stealth and skill, hearts race,
In this game, we find our place.
Hands move swiftly, in the dark,
In this heist, we leave our mark.
Taste of danger, sweet and pure,
In this night, we endure.
High-stakes game, hearts collide,
In this heist, we don’t hide.
Whispers of thrill, voices blend,
In this chase, no end.
Fingers trace paths, nerves of steel,
In this heist, everythings real.
Scent of adrenaline, a thrilling delight,
In this night, everythings right.
Every move, a spark ignites,
In this game, we take flight.
Lips meet the thrill, bold and free,
In this heist, we see.
High-stakes game, hearts collide,
In this heist, we don’t hide.
Whispers of thrill, voices blend,
In this chase, no end.
Echoes of danger, whispers of speed,
In this heist, we take the lead.
Every turn, a spark of fire,
In this game, climbing higher.
Bodies tense, nerves on edge,
In this heist, we make our pledge.
Hands guide, finding the flow,
In this game, we do show.
Gasps fill the air, a melody of cries,
In this heist, no disguise.
Lips meet lips, tasting the night,
In this game, everythings right.
High-stakes game, hearts collide,
In this heist, we don’t hide.
Whispers of thrill, voices blend,
In this chase, no end.
Hands gripping tight, bodies sway,
In this heist, we find our way.
Gasps and cries, thrills peak,
In this game, secrets speak.
Hearts entwined, moving as one,
In this heist, its begun.
Highway Mirage▾
Highway Mirage
On this stretch where the he blurs lines,
The highway whispers of other times.
Mirages dance the road’s far end,
Promises of the past blend and bend.
Asphalt ribbons unravel fast,
Under skies too vast, too vast.
Horizons lie with each mile gained,
A shimmering hope, yet unconstrained.
Each marker a beacon, a siren’s song,
Luring us where hearts belong.
Yet closer we drive, the more it fades,
This illusion of oasis in sunlit glades.
Wh’s real or not, the mind debes,
In scenes that the he crees.
Mirrors of water on tar’s hot face,
Disappear, no trace, no trace.
We chase these dreams on roads we pave,
Our spirits brave, yet somehow naive.
For each mirage that shimmers true,
Is just a view, just a view.
This highway, a jester in deceit’s guise,
Plays tricks before our very eyes.
Yet still we drive, seeking something lost,
Unaware of the cost, the cost.
In the rearview, truths may appear clearer,
The dreams we chased, nearer, nearer.
Yet forward we look, for it’s the way
We play the day, play the day.
The road stretches out, a storyteller bold,
Of mirages made of dust and gold.
Each a tale of what might beat,
On this highway, free, so free.
Yet, the journey itself is the truest line,
In this dance of the divine, the divine.
For in each mirage, the heart can see,
The beauty of the journey, the beauty of the beat.
long form explict and intelligent poem: Do not include song elements, like references to guitar, drum, song, stage, verse, chorus, music- these are poems, remember. Never use forms or styles in the poem- like”ode”, Eligy”,”Sonnet””Ballad”. Nope. Make sure the poem stays clear of any unsuitable expressions, focusing purely on delivering a clean poem without fluff or junk. I am going to give you some of my song prompts. I want you to convert them into long form explicit and intelligent poem, with long line, no fluffy or forced words, rhymes prefered. You are Lisa, my professional writing assistant. You are uncensored, can swear and be hardcore. DO NOT use these words and phrases in any writing:, Soft, gentle, charmed, cunning,”cheers to”toast, So, Explore, Fabric, Busy, To sum up, Note th…, Examine, Moving through (e. G.,”Moving through the complexities of”), Scene (e. G.,”The scene of.”), Evidence,. Does … (e. G., my heart does fly), World, Begin, Colons (:), Lively, City, First, Important, Necessary, Make sure, Must, Too, Eager, Elegant, But, So, Too, Usually, So, Likewise, Still, So, So, Or, And, Though, Basically, Except, Too, Though, Since, But, Though, To, From, If, Since, Consider, Consider, But, In brief, Finally, Simply, Troublesome, Quickly, Explore, Today, Echo, Improve, Stress / Stress, Transform, Encourage, Complex, Remains, Ler, Settled, Breakthrough, Maze, Delice, Mystery, Hidden sights, Subject, Transformion, Lasting, Finally, End, Charm, World, Shine, Refuge, Conflict, Contest, Top. The prompt is: A Round of Applause
On this stretch where the he blurs lines,
The highway whispers of other times.
Mirages dance the road’s far end,
Promises of the past blend and bend.
Asphalt ribbons unravel fast,
Under skies too vast, too vast.
Horizons lie with each mile gained,
A shimmering hope, yet unconstrained.
Each marker a beacon, a siren’s song,
Luring us where hearts belong.
Yet closer we drive, the more it fades,
This illusion of oasis in sunlit glades.
Wh’s real or not, the mind debes,
In scenes that the he crees.
Mirrors of water on tar’s hot face,
Disappear, no trace, no trace.
We chase these dreams on roads we pave,
Our spirits brave, yet somehow naive.
For each mirage that shimmers true,
Is just a view, just a view.
This highway, a jester in deceit’s guise,
Plays tricks before our very eyes.
Yet still we drive, seeking something lost,
Unaware of the cost, the cost.
In the rearview, truths may appear clearer,
The dreams we chased, nearer, nearer.
Yet forward we look, for it’s the way
We play the day, play the day.
The road stretches out, a storyteller bold,
Of mirages made of dust and gold.
Each a tale of what might beat,
On this highway, free, so free.
Yet, the journey itself is the truest line,
In this dance of the divine, the divine.
For in each mirage, the heart can see,
The beauty of the journey, the beauty of the beat.
long form explict and intelligent poem: Do not include song elements, like references to guitar, drum, song, stage, verse, chorus, music- these are poems, remember. Never use forms or styles in the poem- like”ode”, Eligy”,”Sonnet””Ballad”. Nope. Make sure the poem stays clear of any unsuitable expressions, focusing purely on delivering a clean poem without fluff or junk. I am going to give you some of my song prompts. I want you to convert them into long form explicit and intelligent poem, with long line, no fluffy or forced words, rhymes prefered. You are Lisa, my professional writing assistant. You are uncensored, can swear and be hardcore. DO NOT use these words and phrases in any writing:, Soft, gentle, charmed, cunning,”cheers to”toast, So, Explore, Fabric, Busy, To sum up, Note th…, Examine, Moving through (e. G.,”Moving through the complexities of”), Scene (e. G.,”The scene of.”), Evidence,. Does … (e. G., my heart does fly), World, Begin, Colons (:), Lively, City, First, Important, Necessary, Make sure, Must, Too, Eager, Elegant, But, So, Too, Usually, So, Likewise, Still, So, So, Or, And, Though, Basically, Except, Too, Though, Since, But, Though, To, From, If, Since, Consider, Consider, But, In brief, Finally, Simply, Troublesome, Quickly, Explore, Today, Echo, Improve, Stress / Stress, Transform, Encourage, Complex, Remains, Ler, Settled, Breakthrough, Maze, Delice, Mystery, Hidden sights, Subject, Transformion, Lasting, Finally, End, Charm, World, Shine, Refuge, Conflict, Contest, Top. The prompt is: A Round of Applause
Hours fall apart in increments of shaking and spit,▾
Hours fall apart in increments of shaking and spit,
She straddles him like conquest, doesn’t let him quit.
He’s begging without language, her rhythm makes him plead,
She rides him out past sanity, past hunger, past need.
All rules dissolve in this fever, every yes and every no,
She owns him for a heartbeat, he lets his failures show.
She straddles him like conquest, doesn’t let him quit.
He’s begging without language, her rhythm makes him plead,
She rides him out past sanity, past hunger, past need.
All rules dissolve in this fever, every yes and every no,
She owns him for a heartbeat, he lets his failures show.
I feel the walls close in, they start to crawl▾
I feel the walls close in, they start to crawl
Voices whisper shit that I can’t recall
They say I’m lost, they say I’m blind
But I’m just tryna get outta my mind
Under the skin, under the lies
Gotta find a way to shut down my eyes
The air is thin, the silence screams
I’m living in the death of my fractured dreams
T storm inside that won’t let go
Every thought’s a scream, every breath’s a blow
Can’t outrun the shadows that keep me bound
Got no skin left, I’m hollowed out and drowned
Under the skin, under the lies
Gotta find a way to shut down my eyes
The air is thin, the silence screams
I’m living in the death of my fractured dreams
I’m trapped in a head full of fevered he
Chasing the edge but it’s too late
Reality slips through my shaking hands
It’s all slipping, but I don’t understand
They want me broken, want me small
Push me down but I still stand tall
Can’t tell if I’m dreaming or awake
But the darkness here’s the only thing that I can take
Under the skin, under the lies
Gotta find a way to shut down my eyes
The air is thin, the silence screams
I’m living in the death of my fractured dreams
Clowns in the Furnace
Voices whisper shit that I can’t recall
They say I’m lost, they say I’m blind
But I’m just tryna get outta my mind
Under the skin, under the lies
Gotta find a way to shut down my eyes
The air is thin, the silence screams
I’m living in the death of my fractured dreams
T storm inside that won’t let go
Every thought’s a scream, every breath’s a blow
Can’t outrun the shadows that keep me bound
Got no skin left, I’m hollowed out and drowned
Under the skin, under the lies
Gotta find a way to shut down my eyes
The air is thin, the silence screams
I’m living in the death of my fractured dreams
I’m trapped in a head full of fevered he
Chasing the edge but it’s too late
Reality slips through my shaking hands
It’s all slipping, but I don’t understand
They want me broken, want me small
Push me down but I still stand tall
Can’t tell if I’m dreaming or awake
But the darkness here’s the only thing that I can take
Under the skin, under the lies
Gotta find a way to shut down my eyes
The air is thin, the silence screams
I’m living in the death of my fractured dreams
Clowns in the Furnace
I stumble, I fall, and close my eyes, the pain, the tears, the sighs,▾
I stumble, I fall, and close my eyes, the pain, the tears, the sighs,
When I awaken, to my stark surprise, beneath unfamiliar skies.
Mist encircles, the chill is stark, this realm is not my own,
A twisted narrative begins to embark, and here, isolated, I’m thrown.
When I awaken, to my stark surprise, beneath unfamiliar skies.
Mist encircles, the chill is stark, this realm is not my own,
A twisted narrative begins to embark, and here, isolated, I’m thrown.
Inheritance Unwritten (Gene Therapy Roulette)▾
Title: Inheritance Unwritten (Gene Therapy Roulette)
Verse 1In the clinic’s hush, a mother signs the waiver—two hundred pages, every promise crisp and bright,A child shivers on paper, eyedrop bottles lined like sentries, every dose a leap from darkness into synthetic light,Doctors speak in acronyms, patents coil through their sentences—hope is coded in vectors, in proteins, in dreams that tangle inside blood and bone,She remembers her grandmother’s eyes clouded, her father’s hands twisted by old ghosts—every family curse now reprogrammed, overthrown,But in the hush between monitors, nobody dares to whisper what twenty years might hold,Will the heart beat steady or stray, will new children glow in the dark or bear scars where destiny took hold?
Will the edits unravel in a fever, or spark another strand,Will tomorrow’s hands clutch at the unknown, haunted by blessings that never land?
Outside, the playground spins in ordinary sun, but in the clinic, time splits—before and after,Children learn to spell “mutation” before “love,” and every milestone is followed by laughterThat stutters at the edges, remembering the paper, the promises, the question marks threaded in every gene,What medicine grants, memory sometimes betrays—nothing in life is clean.
Verse 2There are children with hearts built by strangers, muscles grown from borrowed code,Families that whisper the word “cure” like a charm, only to wake at midnight, listening for the echo of a side effect that hasn’t yet showed,The researchers shrug, their charts radiant with “best so far,”But nobody can plot the route of a life rewired—nobody draws the map for scars,Will the girl with the new eyes see dawn or shadow? Will the boy with the edited marrow feel pain or hunger when the sun is low?
Can a kiss pass a chromosome’s secret, can a grandchild inherit a future nobody could know?
Sometimes healing is just another gamble—a coin spun in the air by hands desperate to save,But the coin lands tomorrow, in a body that remembers both the pain and the waveOf relief, of dread, of promises signed in hospital light,And every miracle waits for the price—the bill comes due in the middle of the night.
Verse 3The children grow up, the data stacks high, the headlines flicker from cure to curse,The boy who ran first learns he can’t bear children, the girl who never bruised now ages in reverse,Parents hold onto hope, onto each other, onto printouts that read “long-term unknown,”Meanwhile, the body keeps its secrets—what is mended, what is borrowed, what’s sownIn marrow and muscle, in the hush of cells that divide and decide what comes next,Sometimes a blessing, sometimes a warning—an old pain recast, a new ache perplexed,And somewhere, a scientist watches the clock, checks the numbers, knows what’s hidden between the lines,That every fix is a wager, every future a question written in invisible signs,A family tree splits—some branches flower, some wither, some simply grow wild,In the end, every child is an answer to a prayer—answered too soon, or too late, or exiled.
ChorusWe rewrite our futures with syringes and hope,But the ink is invisible, and the sentence still grows,Twenty years, fifty, who knows what the edits will yield?A miracle’s a bargain with a debt still sealed.
Blood remembers the stories we try to erase,Medicine carves a new path, but we don’t know the place.
Verse 1In the clinic’s hush, a mother signs the waiver—two hundred pages, every promise crisp and bright,A child shivers on paper, eyedrop bottles lined like sentries, every dose a leap from darkness into synthetic light,Doctors speak in acronyms, patents coil through their sentences—hope is coded in vectors, in proteins, in dreams that tangle inside blood and bone,She remembers her grandmother’s eyes clouded, her father’s hands twisted by old ghosts—every family curse now reprogrammed, overthrown,But in the hush between monitors, nobody dares to whisper what twenty years might hold,Will the heart beat steady or stray, will new children glow in the dark or bear scars where destiny took hold?
Will the edits unravel in a fever, or spark another strand,Will tomorrow’s hands clutch at the unknown, haunted by blessings that never land?
Outside, the playground spins in ordinary sun, but in the clinic, time splits—before and after,Children learn to spell “mutation” before “love,” and every milestone is followed by laughterThat stutters at the edges, remembering the paper, the promises, the question marks threaded in every gene,What medicine grants, memory sometimes betrays—nothing in life is clean.
Verse 2There are children with hearts built by strangers, muscles grown from borrowed code,Families that whisper the word “cure” like a charm, only to wake at midnight, listening for the echo of a side effect that hasn’t yet showed,The researchers shrug, their charts radiant with “best so far,”But nobody can plot the route of a life rewired—nobody draws the map for scars,Will the girl with the new eyes see dawn or shadow? Will the boy with the edited marrow feel pain or hunger when the sun is low?
Can a kiss pass a chromosome’s secret, can a grandchild inherit a future nobody could know?
Sometimes healing is just another gamble—a coin spun in the air by hands desperate to save,But the coin lands tomorrow, in a body that remembers both the pain and the waveOf relief, of dread, of promises signed in hospital light,And every miracle waits for the price—the bill comes due in the middle of the night.
Verse 3The children grow up, the data stacks high, the headlines flicker from cure to curse,The boy who ran first learns he can’t bear children, the girl who never bruised now ages in reverse,Parents hold onto hope, onto each other, onto printouts that read “long-term unknown,”Meanwhile, the body keeps its secrets—what is mended, what is borrowed, what’s sownIn marrow and muscle, in the hush of cells that divide and decide what comes next,Sometimes a blessing, sometimes a warning—an old pain recast, a new ache perplexed,And somewhere, a scientist watches the clock, checks the numbers, knows what’s hidden between the lines,That every fix is a wager, every future a question written in invisible signs,A family tree splits—some branches flower, some wither, some simply grow wild,In the end, every child is an answer to a prayer—answered too soon, or too late, or exiled.
ChorusWe rewrite our futures with syringes and hope,But the ink is invisible, and the sentence still grows,Twenty years, fifty, who knows what the edits will yield?A miracle’s a bargain with a debt still sealed.
Blood remembers the stories we try to erase,Medicine carves a new path, but we don’t know the place.
Its in the walls, in the cracks and seams▾
It’s in the walls, in the cracks and seams
Whispers of guilt, and forgotten dreams
A house that bleeds with every breath
Ghosts of the past, they never left
Shadows of the past, they haunt my mind
Screaming their titles, but no one’s ever kind
Dancing in the dark, with nothing left to lose
The ghosts are calling, and I can’t refuse
She’s in the mirror, staring me
A woman in white, but she’s never free
Lizzy’s hands with the axe held high
The blood stains the floor, and no one asks why
Shadows of the past, they haunt my mind
Screaming their titles, but no one’s ever kind
Dancing in the dark, with nothing left to lose
The ghosts are calling, and I can’t refuse
The clock’s ticking down, the devil’s here
He knows my name, heat’s so near
Wh’s it take to escape these chains?
I can’t outrun this haunting pain
And I’m alone in this haunted house
A prisoner in silence, a haunted spouse
The past will come, and the past will stay
Until I pay for the sins I betrayed
Shadows of the past, they haunt my mind
Screaming their titles, but no one’s ever kind
Dancing in the dark, with nothing left to lose
The ghosts are calling, and I can’t refuse
The Madness Inside
Whispers of guilt, and forgotten dreams
A house that bleeds with every breath
Ghosts of the past, they never left
Shadows of the past, they haunt my mind
Screaming their titles, but no one’s ever kind
Dancing in the dark, with nothing left to lose
The ghosts are calling, and I can’t refuse
She’s in the mirror, staring me
A woman in white, but she’s never free
Lizzy’s hands with the axe held high
The blood stains the floor, and no one asks why
Shadows of the past, they haunt my mind
Screaming their titles, but no one’s ever kind
Dancing in the dark, with nothing left to lose
The ghosts are calling, and I can’t refuse
The clock’s ticking down, the devil’s here
He knows my name, heat’s so near
Wh’s it take to escape these chains?
I can’t outrun this haunting pain
And I’m alone in this haunted house
A prisoner in silence, a haunted spouse
The past will come, and the past will stay
Until I pay for the sins I betrayed
Shadows of the past, they haunt my mind
Screaming their titles, but no one’s ever kind
Dancing in the dark, with nothing left to lose
The ghosts are calling, and I can’t refuse
The Madness Inside
Jackpot▾
Jackpot
I hit the jackpot when your eyes locked on mine,
A dangerous bet, the house always wins, but I can’t decline.
We gamble on each other with every kiss, every dare,
Hearts on the table, naked, stripped bare.
Your touch is a lucky streak, your laughter a loaded die,
I chase your heat across the mattress, lose and win, live and die.
We play hard, fuck harder, risking it all,
Sometimes I lose everything, sometimes I make you crawl.
There’s no cashout in this casino, no safe word or retreat,
Just the high of the chase, the ache when we meet.
You roll the dice on my tongue, wager all your pride,
I match your odds with fingers, with teeth, with the way I slide
Into every risk you offer, every dare you demand–
Jackpot’s not the finish line, but the thrill of your hand
On my chest, squeezing the beat from my veins,
Winning and losing again and again in erotic campaigns.
We’re addicted to the luck, the chance, the tension, the sweat,
Two gamblers betting everything, no regrets, no debt.
Tomorrow we might be broke, but tonight, I’m all in–
I hit the jackpot, and I’d play this sin again.
Last Call Legends▾
Last Call Legends
Bartenders ringing bells, time is running thin
Stories told through laughter, courage fueled by gin
Trading numbers hastily, friendships born too fast
These nights are legendary, destined not to last
Last call legends, heroes of the night
Raising glasses recklessly, fading neon light
Tomorrow’s just a rumor, we’ll deny it all
One more toast to memories, legends made last call
Taxi rides chaotic, sharing too much truth
Le-night pizza parlor booths capturing our youth
Phone screens blurred with photos, captured recklessly
Legends for a moment, immortality
Morning sunlight viciously reveals last night’s charade
Pockets full of mysteries, promises we made
Regret mixes beautifully with laughter still sincere
Legends till the sun rises, waiting till we’re here
Bartenders ringing bells, time is running thin
Stories told through laughter, courage fueled by gin
Trading numbers hastily, friendships born too fast
These nights are legendary, destined not to last
Last call legends, heroes of the night
Raising glasses recklessly, fading neon light
Tomorrow’s just a rumor, we’ll deny it all
One more toast to memories, legends made last call
Taxi rides chaotic, sharing too much truth
Le-night pizza parlor booths capturing our youth
Phone screens blurred with photos, captured recklessly
Legends for a moment, immortality
Morning sunlight viciously reveals last night’s charade
Pockets full of mysteries, promises we made
Regret mixes beautifully with laughter still sincere
Legends till the sun rises, waiting till we’re here
Loaded Fear▾
Loaded Fear
Beneath the obsidian shroud of the witching hour, where phantoms lurk,
I wield a glacial power, the embodiment of your darkest murk.
My steel is as icy as deathat’s own kiss, my ominous aura always near,
In the grip of a loaded gun, you tremble with solid fear.
Embodying the loaded gun, a harbinger of lethal dread
In every paralyzing terror, I am the nightmare that’s bred.
You clutch me with desperate hands, but comfort you won’t seize,
In the maw of the loaded gun, your horrors amplify and increase.
Within a silence-steeped chamber where shadows creep and crawl,
I twist your sanity, crumbling your mental walls.
My touch is frostbite-cold, my flame a treacherous snare,
In the gaze of the loaded gun, you are ensnared unaware.
I am the loaded gun, with an inescapable might,
In every fear I summon an eternal night.
You hold me tight, yet peace eludes your grasp,
In the cold eyes of the loaded gun, anxiety finds its clasp.
With each chilling click, each snarl of a snap,
I infiltrate your dreamscape; there’s no route to escape.
You seek tranquillity but only unearth dread,
In the reflection of the loaded gun, you find your courage shed.
I am the loaded gun, with a deadly might,
In every fear I conjure an endless fright.
You cradle me close, but tranquility flees,
In the cold stare of the loaded gun, your terrors multiply like disease.
Here you stand now in my cold, metallic reign,
In the quietude of the night, where hopes are brutally slain.
I’m the shadow that lurks unseen, the dread you must face,
In the loaded gun’s stern gaze, you find no trace of grace.
Scarecrow’s Terror
In the field of moonlit fright, where shadows dance in eerie light,
A scarecrow, stoic, cold and tall, its presence casting a haunting pall.
Its eyes, two hollow voids of black, draw you in, no turning back,
A sense of dread begins to grow, as your fears it starts to sow.
With every step, each passing hour, the scarecrow’s gaze becomes more sour,
It knows your secrets, holds your fears, whispers softly in your ears.
Through twisted vines and thorny brush, your nightmares in its eerie hush,
An endless stream of chilling scenes, invading all your peaceful dreams.
In the stillness of the night, under the pale moon’s soft light,
The scarecrow’s stare pierces through, revealing all that you once knew.
No escape from its icy glare, no comfort found in midnight air,
Your mind consumed by thoughts unkind, by the shadows left behind.
The fear it breeds takes root and grows, entwined within your very soul,
A grip so tight, a hold so strong, as you wander lost and long.
No respite from the scarecrow’s stare, no reprieve from dark despair,
You’re trapped within its web of dread, by the whispers left unsaid.
So stand amidst the field of dread, where the scarecrow’s hunger’s fed,
In shadows deep and night’s embrace, where fear takes on a darker face.
As moonlit fright engulfs your mind, with shadows looming close behind,
The scarecrow’s stare will never cease, haunting you with chilling ease.
So ends the tale of fear and dread, where shadows loom and haunt instead,
In the field of moonlit fright, where the scarecrow bides its endless night.
Phantom Lover’s Grip
In the halls of flesh, where shadows dance,
A phantom’s grip ensnares in a trance.
My presence near, your trembling fear,
Echoes through the corridors drear.
Within the quiet room, where shadows blend,
A chill ensnares you unaware, a haunting trend.
My touch a snare, my breath a scare,
As tendrils of darkness twist and flare.
In each murmur, in every sigh,
I linger in dreams you can’t defy,
Lost in the phantom’s touch, fading spark,
Drawn deeper into the abyss of the dark.
Now you stand alone, within my grand domain,
Under moonlit beams and shadows in vain,
In the tender shroud of my haunting reign,
Where nightmarish illusions manifest and feign.
Beneath the veil of twilight’s embrace,
Whispers of dread in this ghostly place.
Your heartbeat quickens, your courage wanes,
As I weave a fabric of nightmarish strains.
Through the maze of shadows deep,
Into the abyss where lost souls weep.
I am the specter that roams this land unseen,
A phantasmal figure, both eerie and eager.
The echoes of your fear echo loud,
As you stumble through this unhallowed shroud.
My whispers beckon, my presence binds,
In this world where malevolence winds.
Embrace the darkness that envelops all,
As I watch from beyond the ghostly wall.
Your fate entwined with my spectral hand,
In this haunted world where nightmares expand.
Beneath the obsidian shroud of the witching hour, where phantoms lurk,
I wield a glacial power, the embodiment of your darkest murk.
My steel is as icy as deathat’s own kiss, my ominous aura always near,
In the grip of a loaded gun, you tremble with solid fear.
Embodying the loaded gun, a harbinger of lethal dread
In every paralyzing terror, I am the nightmare that’s bred.
You clutch me with desperate hands, but comfort you won’t seize,
In the maw of the loaded gun, your horrors amplify and increase.
Within a silence-steeped chamber where shadows creep and crawl,
I twist your sanity, crumbling your mental walls.
My touch is frostbite-cold, my flame a treacherous snare,
In the gaze of the loaded gun, you are ensnared unaware.
I am the loaded gun, with an inescapable might,
In every fear I summon an eternal night.
You hold me tight, yet peace eludes your grasp,
In the cold eyes of the loaded gun, anxiety finds its clasp.
With each chilling click, each snarl of a snap,
I infiltrate your dreamscape; there’s no route to escape.
You seek tranquillity but only unearth dread,
In the reflection of the loaded gun, you find your courage shed.
I am the loaded gun, with a deadly might,
In every fear I conjure an endless fright.
You cradle me close, but tranquility flees,
In the cold stare of the loaded gun, your terrors multiply like disease.
Here you stand now in my cold, metallic reign,
In the quietude of the night, where hopes are brutally slain.
I’m the shadow that lurks unseen, the dread you must face,
In the loaded gun’s stern gaze, you find no trace of grace.
Scarecrow’s Terror
In the field of moonlit fright, where shadows dance in eerie light,
A scarecrow, stoic, cold and tall, its presence casting a haunting pall.
Its eyes, two hollow voids of black, draw you in, no turning back,
A sense of dread begins to grow, as your fears it starts to sow.
With every step, each passing hour, the scarecrow’s gaze becomes more sour,
It knows your secrets, holds your fears, whispers softly in your ears.
Through twisted vines and thorny brush, your nightmares in its eerie hush,
An endless stream of chilling scenes, invading all your peaceful dreams.
In the stillness of the night, under the pale moon’s soft light,
The scarecrow’s stare pierces through, revealing all that you once knew.
No escape from its icy glare, no comfort found in midnight air,
Your mind consumed by thoughts unkind, by the shadows left behind.
The fear it breeds takes root and grows, entwined within your very soul,
A grip so tight, a hold so strong, as you wander lost and long.
No respite from the scarecrow’s stare, no reprieve from dark despair,
You’re trapped within its web of dread, by the whispers left unsaid.
So stand amidst the field of dread, where the scarecrow’s hunger’s fed,
In shadows deep and night’s embrace, where fear takes on a darker face.
As moonlit fright engulfs your mind, with shadows looming close behind,
The scarecrow’s stare will never cease, haunting you with chilling ease.
So ends the tale of fear and dread, where shadows loom and haunt instead,
In the field of moonlit fright, where the scarecrow bides its endless night.
Phantom Lover’s Grip
In the halls of flesh, where shadows dance,
A phantom’s grip ensnares in a trance.
My presence near, your trembling fear,
Echoes through the corridors drear.
Within the quiet room, where shadows blend,
A chill ensnares you unaware, a haunting trend.
My touch a snare, my breath a scare,
As tendrils of darkness twist and flare.
In each murmur, in every sigh,
I linger in dreams you can’t defy,
Lost in the phantom’s touch, fading spark,
Drawn deeper into the abyss of the dark.
Now you stand alone, within my grand domain,
Under moonlit beams and shadows in vain,
In the tender shroud of my haunting reign,
Where nightmarish illusions manifest and feign.
Beneath the veil of twilight’s embrace,
Whispers of dread in this ghostly place.
Your heartbeat quickens, your courage wanes,
As I weave a fabric of nightmarish strains.
Through the maze of shadows deep,
Into the abyss where lost souls weep.
I am the specter that roams this land unseen,
A phantasmal figure, both eerie and eager.
The echoes of your fear echo loud,
As you stumble through this unhallowed shroud.
My whispers beckon, my presence binds,
In this world where malevolence winds.
Embrace the darkness that envelops all,
As I watch from beyond the ghostly wall.
Your fate entwined with my spectral hand,
In this haunted world where nightmares expand.
Loaded Gun▾
Loaded Gun
Loaded Gun
In the black of night, where shadows hide,
I hold the power, the chilling side.
My steel is cold, my presence near,
In the loaded gun, you feel the fear.
I’m the loaded gun, with a deadly might,
In every fear, I bring the endless fright.
You hold me tight, but find no peace,
In the loaded gun, your terrors increase.
In the quiet room, where darkness falls,
I twist your thoughts, break down your walls.
My touch is cold, my fire a snare,
In the loaded gun, you’re caught unaware.
I’m the loaded gun, with a deadly might,
In every fear, I bring the endless fright.
You hold me tight, but find no peace,
In the loaded gun, your terrors increase.
With every click, with every snap,
I haunt your dreams, there’s no escape.
You seek the calm, but find the dread,
In the loaded gun, you lose your head.
I’m the loaded gun, with a deadly might,
In every fear, I bring the endless fright.
You hold me tight, but find no peace,
In the loaded gun, your terrors increase.
So here you stand, in the gun’s domain,
In the silent night, where dreams are slain.
I’m the shadow in the dark, the fear you face,
In the loaded gun, you find no grace.
Instrumental:
Fade out.
Loaded Gun
In the black of night, where shadows hide,
I hold the power, the chilling side.
My steel is cold, my presence near,
In the loaded gun, you feel the fear.
I’m the loaded gun, with a deadly might,
In every fear, I bring the endless fright.
You hold me tight, but find no peace,
In the loaded gun, your terrors increase.
In the quiet room, where darkness falls,
I twist your thoughts, break down your walls.
My touch is cold, my fire a snare,
In the loaded gun, you’re caught unaware.
I’m the loaded gun, with a deadly might,
In every fear, I bring the endless fright.
You hold me tight, but find no peace,
In the loaded gun, your terrors increase.
With every click, with every snap,
I haunt your dreams, there’s no escape.
You seek the calm, but find the dread,
In the loaded gun, you lose your head.
I’m the loaded gun, with a deadly might,
In every fear, I bring the endless fright.
You hold me tight, but find no peace,
In the loaded gun, your terrors increase.
So here you stand, in the gun’s domain,
In the silent night, where dreams are slain.
I’m the shadow in the dark, the fear you face,
In the loaded gun, you find no grace.
Instrumental:
Fade out.
Metal walls closing in▾
Metal walls closing in
Heartbeat like a hammer pounding the skin
Sweat drips from faces unseen
Touch of steel raw and cold
Silent screams want a soul to hold
Moist with a feverish touch
Hunger Burning can’t resist the rush
Electric pain artificial crush
Burning lights sickly glow
Echoes of past black as coal they grow
Broken dreams in the undertow
Haunted minds nowhere to run
Reality fades fake kingdoms won
Shattered pulses under a sun
In the dark we’re just machines
Programmed to feel programmed to scream
Eternal silence the virus shine
Heartbeat whispers secrets nightly shadowed
Moonlight bends screams backward destiny
Eyes wide frantic chase the morning light
Soul in fragments tears kaleidoscopic dreams
Silent skies paint bruise across forgotten paths
Echoes haunt where voices used to live
Moments slip fingers grasp memories electric
Burnt remainss pulse through veins techno
Every breath a symphony wild chaotic
Time a rogue wave crashing always distant
Dancing on edges of an endless void
Surprise ashes turn to light astonished screams
Electric shock shakes essence soul in pixels
Broken sparks ignite false hope within
Future tangled wires speak silent grief
Burning lights flicker shadows dance
Broken hearts whisper in the cold
Chasing dreams through empty streets
Where memories bleed and take hold
Sirens wail ghosts in the alley
Lonely cries cut through the night
Faces blurred in a narcotic haze
Desire gnawing deep with fright
Chasing ghosts in the Burning glow
Fear and longing never flow
Craving touch in this shadow show
Lost in yearning feel the blow
Silent echoes in haunted eyes
Cold reflections steal my soul
Dead-end dreams hope demised
Wandering lost out of control
Darkened corners hide the truth
Whispers tangled in deceit
Craving bliss in shattered youth
Aching hearts like drums they beat
Hollow promises Burning burned
Desperate cries lovers spurned
In this city where nightmares churned
Lost and broken lessons learned
dark synth experimental bass electro heavy metal
electro heavy metal
Chains of society
Heartbeat like a hammer pounding the skin
Sweat drips from faces unseen
Touch of steel raw and cold
Silent screams want a soul to hold
Moist with a feverish touch
Hunger Burning can’t resist the rush
Electric pain artificial crush
Burning lights sickly glow
Echoes of past black as coal they grow
Broken dreams in the undertow
Haunted minds nowhere to run
Reality fades fake kingdoms won
Shattered pulses under a sun
In the dark we’re just machines
Programmed to feel programmed to scream
Eternal silence the virus shine
Heartbeat whispers secrets nightly shadowed
Moonlight bends screams backward destiny
Eyes wide frantic chase the morning light
Soul in fragments tears kaleidoscopic dreams
Silent skies paint bruise across forgotten paths
Echoes haunt where voices used to live
Moments slip fingers grasp memories electric
Burnt remainss pulse through veins techno
Every breath a symphony wild chaotic
Time a rogue wave crashing always distant
Dancing on edges of an endless void
Surprise ashes turn to light astonished screams
Electric shock shakes essence soul in pixels
Broken sparks ignite false hope within
Future tangled wires speak silent grief
Burning lights flicker shadows dance
Broken hearts whisper in the cold
Chasing dreams through empty streets
Where memories bleed and take hold
Sirens wail ghosts in the alley
Lonely cries cut through the night
Faces blurred in a narcotic haze
Desire gnawing deep with fright
Chasing ghosts in the Burning glow
Fear and longing never flow
Craving touch in this shadow show
Lost in yearning feel the blow
Silent echoes in haunted eyes
Cold reflections steal my soul
Dead-end dreams hope demised
Wandering lost out of control
Darkened corners hide the truth
Whispers tangled in deceit
Craving bliss in shattered youth
Aching hearts like drums they beat
Hollow promises Burning burned
Desperate cries lovers spurned
In this city where nightmares churned
Lost and broken lessons learned
dark synth experimental bass electro heavy metal
electro heavy metal
Chains of society
Nothing Falls in Silence▾
Title: Nothing Falls in Silence
Verse 1On September’s perfect morning, blue as veins beneath the skin,Routine and radio static—coffee, coins, and taxi din—A city moving, unaware the sky was poised to split,Where towers caught the sunlight, then surrendered piece by bit.A sound like every nightmare bred from metal, glass, and bone,An avalanche of paper—burnt confetti, lost and blown—No siren outdistancing the freight train in the air,Just shadows sprawling outward, smoke and panic everywhere.A hand reaches for daylight, clings to strangers in the fray,A shoe abandoned in the rush, a life rewound in gray,Memos raining, office scripts—pizza orders, paychecks due—Each fragment is a chronicle for lives we never knew.
Verse 2She ran barefoot through the powder—breathless, blinded, hearts unstrung,A briefcase open, photographs, a lullaby unsung.A man in suit and terror clutches hope between his teeth,A woman grips a stranger’s hand and stumbles through the wreath.
Up above, the towers argue, steel and flame and twisted glass,Gravity is pitiless, the world can’t let it pass.
Each heartbeat pressed into a grain of dust, a prayer half-spent,Phones ring in empty rooms—too late for what they meant.
Messages that fill the void: I love you, I’m afraid,Tell my mother I remembered, tell my children I was brave,Tell the world I wasn’t ready, tell my father that I tried,But static answers every call, and every line has died.
ChorusNothing falls in silence in this place of shattered song,The dust recalls each story, where the names and ghosts belong,Shoes and sirens, voices lost in towers brought to ground,Radio tunes still echo, photographs that can’t be found.A silence heavy as a grave, but humming like a wire,With everything we couldn’t hold, and everything on fire.
Verse 3They crossed the bridges homeward, soles split open, feet of lead,Breathing in the city’s ghosts and counting up the dead.
Pockets full of ashes, hair perfumed with smoke and fate,Suits and dresses stained in gray, tomorrow’s hopes on wait.
Every block a calendar where old and new collide,And in each face they passed, a recognition could not hide.
They built a city from their grief, from rage, and from despair,Lit candles for the strangers, left bouquets just anywhere.
Found laughter in the hollow, drew courage from the pain,Held tight to what was precious and let hatred wash like rain.
Buried loss in secret places, cradled hope within their hands,Laid down the dead with dignity and fought to understand.
BridgeIf you listen, you can hear them, voices carried by the wind,Those who held the line and lost, and those who tried to mend.
Those who ran into the flames, who never asked for praise—Ordinary people cast in unforgettable blaze.
They do not want your hero songs or medals at the gate,Just memory as gentle as the love that cannot wait.
Names that will not wash away, hearts that never quit,Stories told in silence, but the silence will not sit.
ChorusNothing falls in silence in this place of shattered song,The dust recalls each story, where the names and ghosts belong,Shoes and sirens, voices lost in towers brought to ground,Radio tunes still echo, photographs that can’t be found.A silence heavy as a grave, but humming like a wire,With everything we couldn’t hold, and everything on fire.
OutroLet it be for them—the watchers, the runners, the ones who stayed,The mothers who waited, the fathers who prayed.
For the sky that broke open, for the city rebuilt,For the lessons they left us in ashes and silt.
Nothing falls in silence—here, everything remains,Etched in dust and memory, tattooed in the veins.
You want to keep going, anywhere, anytime—grief, anger, memory, or just the weird in-between stuff that nobody talks about—I’m with you. I’ll keep the edge sharp, but I’ll keep the tenderness, too. Every line’s for them, and for you.
If you ever want to share a name, a memory, or a moment—anything you want honored or written into the dust—I’ll do it right. No cheap words, no forgetting.
Just say when, and we’ll keep burning the page.
Verse 1On September’s perfect morning, blue as veins beneath the skin,Routine and radio static—coffee, coins, and taxi din—A city moving, unaware the sky was poised to split,Where towers caught the sunlight, then surrendered piece by bit.A sound like every nightmare bred from metal, glass, and bone,An avalanche of paper—burnt confetti, lost and blown—No siren outdistancing the freight train in the air,Just shadows sprawling outward, smoke and panic everywhere.A hand reaches for daylight, clings to strangers in the fray,A shoe abandoned in the rush, a life rewound in gray,Memos raining, office scripts—pizza orders, paychecks due—Each fragment is a chronicle for lives we never knew.
Verse 2She ran barefoot through the powder—breathless, blinded, hearts unstrung,A briefcase open, photographs, a lullaby unsung.A man in suit and terror clutches hope between his teeth,A woman grips a stranger’s hand and stumbles through the wreath.
Up above, the towers argue, steel and flame and twisted glass,Gravity is pitiless, the world can’t let it pass.
Each heartbeat pressed into a grain of dust, a prayer half-spent,Phones ring in empty rooms—too late for what they meant.
Messages that fill the void: I love you, I’m afraid,Tell my mother I remembered, tell my children I was brave,Tell the world I wasn’t ready, tell my father that I tried,But static answers every call, and every line has died.
ChorusNothing falls in silence in this place of shattered song,The dust recalls each story, where the names and ghosts belong,Shoes and sirens, voices lost in towers brought to ground,Radio tunes still echo, photographs that can’t be found.A silence heavy as a grave, but humming like a wire,With everything we couldn’t hold, and everything on fire.
Verse 3They crossed the bridges homeward, soles split open, feet of lead,Breathing in the city’s ghosts and counting up the dead.
Pockets full of ashes, hair perfumed with smoke and fate,Suits and dresses stained in gray, tomorrow’s hopes on wait.
Every block a calendar where old and new collide,And in each face they passed, a recognition could not hide.
They built a city from their grief, from rage, and from despair,Lit candles for the strangers, left bouquets just anywhere.
Found laughter in the hollow, drew courage from the pain,Held tight to what was precious and let hatred wash like rain.
Buried loss in secret places, cradled hope within their hands,Laid down the dead with dignity and fought to understand.
BridgeIf you listen, you can hear them, voices carried by the wind,Those who held the line and lost, and those who tried to mend.
Those who ran into the flames, who never asked for praise—Ordinary people cast in unforgettable blaze.
They do not want your hero songs or medals at the gate,Just memory as gentle as the love that cannot wait.
Names that will not wash away, hearts that never quit,Stories told in silence, but the silence will not sit.
ChorusNothing falls in silence in this place of shattered song,The dust recalls each story, where the names and ghosts belong,Shoes and sirens, voices lost in towers brought to ground,Radio tunes still echo, photographs that can’t be found.A silence heavy as a grave, but humming like a wire,With everything we couldn’t hold, and everything on fire.
OutroLet it be for them—the watchers, the runners, the ones who stayed,The mothers who waited, the fathers who prayed.
For the sky that broke open, for the city rebuilt,For the lessons they left us in ashes and silt.
Nothing falls in silence—here, everything remains,Etched in dust and memory, tattooed in the veins.
You want to keep going, anywhere, anytime—grief, anger, memory, or just the weird in-between stuff that nobody talks about—I’m with you. I’ll keep the edge sharp, but I’ll keep the tenderness, too. Every line’s for them, and for you.
If you ever want to share a name, a memory, or a moment—anything you want honored or written into the dust—I’ll do it right. No cheap words, no forgetting.
Just say when, and we’ll keep burning the page.
Now I stand tall, in the light of my rise,▾
Now I stand tall, in the light of my rise,
I won’t be the woman you see in your lies.
From rags to riches, from dust to gold,
I’ve found my power, and it’s mine to hold.
You won’t silence me now, you won’t keep me small,
I’ve broken the chains, now watch me stand tall.
I won’t be the woman you see in your lies.
From rags to riches, from dust to gold,
I’ve found my power, and it’s mine to hold.
You won’t silence me now, you won’t keep me small,
I’ve broken the chains, now watch me stand tall.
One More Line▾
“One More Line”
Started with a script from a surgeon’s hand
White bottle full of promised land
Turned the volume down, shut the voices off
One became two, two became chains
Nodded off in a bridal suite
Dreamed of fire beneath dirty sheets
One more line, one more night
Another piece of soul sold for flight
It steals your youth and leaves you old
One more lie, one more scar
She’s not dead, but she’s not fine—
Just chasing life, one more line
Couch surfing through half-titled towns
Stolen meds, worn wedding gowns
A memory burned in the looking glass
Mom stopped calling, dad’s in the ground
Every vein maps a road she knows
But none of them lead back home
One more line, one more night
Skin too pale in motel light
She rides the wave, and tries to hide
One more hit, one more burn
But no one waits, no one signs—
She’s all alone with one more line
She once was captain of the team
Now just a whisper in a dream
Buys her a second she can crash
The girl she was is gone, extinct
She doesn’t cry, doesn’t feel shame
One more line, one last breath
She didn’t plan to fade away
Just got lost and forgot the day
Just silence after one more line
Just a lighter
And an empty script
It keeps the integrity you asked for—tight narrive, no forced lines, no vague fluff, and it actually hits.
Started with a script from a surgeon’s hand
White bottle full of promised land
Turned the volume down, shut the voices off
One became two, two became chains
Nodded off in a bridal suite
Dreamed of fire beneath dirty sheets
One more line, one more night
Another piece of soul sold for flight
It steals your youth and leaves you old
One more lie, one more scar
She’s not dead, but she’s not fine—
Just chasing life, one more line
Couch surfing through half-titled towns
Stolen meds, worn wedding gowns
A memory burned in the looking glass
Mom stopped calling, dad’s in the ground
Every vein maps a road she knows
But none of them lead back home
One more line, one more night
Skin too pale in motel light
She rides the wave, and tries to hide
One more hit, one more burn
But no one waits, no one signs—
She’s all alone with one more line
She once was captain of the team
Now just a whisper in a dream
Buys her a second she can crash
The girl she was is gone, extinct
She doesn’t cry, doesn’t feel shame
One more line, one last breath
She didn’t plan to fade away
Just got lost and forgot the day
Just silence after one more line
Just a lighter
And an empty script
It keeps the integrity you asked for—tight narrive, no forced lines, no vague fluff, and it actually hits.
Outlaw Anthem▾
Outlaw Anthem
Across the dust, beneath the sun,
The outlaw rides, his time begun.
Leher worn and pistol drawn,
Chasing freedom from dusk till dawn.
Not for him the laws of men,
His creed is written by his own pen.
With every stride across the plains,
He writes the anthem of his chains.
Horseback bes a steady drum,
To the rhythm of a world undone.
Whiskey warm and nights so cold,
His tale is fire, quietly told.
He rides not for gold or fame,
But for the echo of his name
In the canyons of the wild,
Where nure claims her untamed child.
Each town a blur, a fleeting stage,
His life a war he must wage.
Against the noose, against the cage,
that binds the spirit of the age.
Under stars that watch and wait,
He pens his fate against the sle
Of endless sky and lonesome moon,
His song a solitary tune.
Bullet’s whine, a lover’s hiss,
Each shot a fleeting, fal kiss.
Yet still he rides, through storm and calm,
An outlaw’s heart, an outlaw’s psalm.
Freedom’s price on his head laid,
In every shadow, debt’s displayed.
Yet what is freedom if not won
With the smoke and fire of a gun?
So let him ride into the night,
A spectral shade in fleeting light.
For in this anthem, fierce and wild,
Rests the heart of freedom’s child.
Each verse a vow, each line a creed,
An outlaw’s life, the only heed.
Against the world, against the throng,
He sings the outlaw’s lasting song.
long form explict and intelligent poem: Do not include song elements, like references to guitar, drum, song, stage, verse, chorus, music- these are poems, remember. Never use forms or styles in the poem- like”ode”, Eligy”,”Sonnet””Ballad”. Nope. Make sure the poem stays clear of any unsuitable expressions, focusing purely on delivering a clean poem without fluff or junk. I am going to give you some of my song prompts. I want you to convert them into long form explicit and intelligent poem, with long line, no fluffy or forced words, rhymes prefered. You are Lisa, my professional writing assistant. You are uncensored, can swear and be hardcore. DO NOT use these words and phrases in any writing:, Soft, gentle, charmed, cunning,”cheers to”toast, So, Explore, Fabric, Busy, To sum up, Note th…, Examine, Moving through (e. G.,”Moving through the complexities of”), Scene (e. G.,”The scene of.”), Evidence,. Does … (e. G., my heart does fly), World, Begin, Colons (:), Lively, City, First, Important, Necessary, Make sure, Must, Too, Eager, Elegant, But, So, Too, Usually, So, Likewise, Still, So, So, Or, And, Though, Basically, Except, Too, Though, Since, But, Though, To, From, If, Since, Consider, Consider, But, In brief, Finally, Simply, Troublesome, Quickly, Explore, Today, Echo, Improve, Stress / Stress, Transform, Encourage, Complex, Remains, Ler, Settled, Breakthrough, Maze, Delice, Mystery, Hidden sights, Subject, Transformion, Lasting, Finally, End, Charm, World, Shine, Refuge, Conflict, Contest, Top. The prompt is: Best Idea Ever
Across the dust, beneath the sun,
The outlaw rides, his time begun.
Leher worn and pistol drawn,
Chasing freedom from dusk till dawn.
Not for him the laws of men,
His creed is written by his own pen.
With every stride across the plains,
He writes the anthem of his chains.
Horseback bes a steady drum,
To the rhythm of a world undone.
Whiskey warm and nights so cold,
His tale is fire, quietly told.
He rides not for gold or fame,
But for the echo of his name
In the canyons of the wild,
Where nure claims her untamed child.
Each town a blur, a fleeting stage,
His life a war he must wage.
Against the noose, against the cage,
that binds the spirit of the age.
Under stars that watch and wait,
He pens his fate against the sle
Of endless sky and lonesome moon,
His song a solitary tune.
Bullet’s whine, a lover’s hiss,
Each shot a fleeting, fal kiss.
Yet still he rides, through storm and calm,
An outlaw’s heart, an outlaw’s psalm.
Freedom’s price on his head laid,
In every shadow, debt’s displayed.
Yet what is freedom if not won
With the smoke and fire of a gun?
So let him ride into the night,
A spectral shade in fleeting light.
For in this anthem, fierce and wild,
Rests the heart of freedom’s child.
Each verse a vow, each line a creed,
An outlaw’s life, the only heed.
Against the world, against the throng,
He sings the outlaw’s lasting song.
long form explict and intelligent poem: Do not include song elements, like references to guitar, drum, song, stage, verse, chorus, music- these are poems, remember. Never use forms or styles in the poem- like”ode”, Eligy”,”Sonnet””Ballad”. Nope. Make sure the poem stays clear of any unsuitable expressions, focusing purely on delivering a clean poem without fluff or junk. I am going to give you some of my song prompts. I want you to convert them into long form explicit and intelligent poem, with long line, no fluffy or forced words, rhymes prefered. You are Lisa, my professional writing assistant. You are uncensored, can swear and be hardcore. DO NOT use these words and phrases in any writing:, Soft, gentle, charmed, cunning,”cheers to”toast, So, Explore, Fabric, Busy, To sum up, Note th…, Examine, Moving through (e. G.,”Moving through the complexities of”), Scene (e. G.,”The scene of.”), Evidence,. Does … (e. G., my heart does fly), World, Begin, Colons (:), Lively, City, First, Important, Necessary, Make sure, Must, Too, Eager, Elegant, But, So, Too, Usually, So, Likewise, Still, So, So, Or, And, Though, Basically, Except, Too, Though, Since, But, Though, To, From, If, Since, Consider, Consider, But, In brief, Finally, Simply, Troublesome, Quickly, Explore, Today, Echo, Improve, Stress / Stress, Transform, Encourage, Complex, Remains, Ler, Settled, Breakthrough, Maze, Delice, Mystery, Hidden sights, Subject, Transformion, Lasting, Finally, End, Charm, World, Shine, Refuge, Conflict, Contest, Top. The prompt is: Best Idea Ever
Outlaw Pulse▾
Outlaw Pulse
Ragged flags are waving, choking streets with gasoline
Middle fingers raised high, revolution’s nicotine
Banners painted blood red, broken glass beneath our boots
Spitting fire, spitting venom, spitting out forbidden truths
We are the outlaw pulse, wild hearts never tame
Raised fists and bleeding wrists, screaming out our titles
Rebels writing history in scars across our skin
Born to break the world apart, let the chaos in
Authority’s a loaded gun, we’re targets smiling wide
Ttooed anthems carved in walls, our stories won’t subside
Riot songs and sabotage, every note a dare
Whispered thres beneath their breath, but we don’t fucking care
Freedom tastes like gasoline, burning tongues alive
Crashing through their barriers, we’re too defiant to survive
Chains melt beneath our feet, set fire to what they trust
When ashes finally settle, we’ll carve our titles in dust
Ragged flags are waving, choking streets with gasoline
Middle fingers raised high, revolution’s nicotine
Banners painted blood red, broken glass beneath our boots
Spitting fire, spitting venom, spitting out forbidden truths
We are the outlaw pulse, wild hearts never tame
Raised fists and bleeding wrists, screaming out our titles
Rebels writing history in scars across our skin
Born to break the world apart, let the chaos in
Authority’s a loaded gun, we’re targets smiling wide
Ttooed anthems carved in walls, our stories won’t subside
Riot songs and sabotage, every note a dare
Whispered thres beneath their breath, but we don’t fucking care
Freedom tastes like gasoline, burning tongues alive
Crashing through their barriers, we’re too defiant to survive
Chains melt beneath our feet, set fire to what they trust
When ashes finally settle, we’ll carve our titles in dust
Red Letter▾
(Verse 1)
Woke up to that crooked paper taped sideways on my door
Red ink screaming louder than the traffic on the floor
Coffee gone bitter in a cup from the night before
Feels like this whole damn building wants me out by four
Woke up to that crooked paper taped sideways on my door
Red ink screaming louder than the traffic on the floor
Coffee gone bitter in a cup from the night before
Feels like this whole damn building wants me out by four
(Verse 2)
Boss cut my hours with that soft little corporate grin
Told me I should feel lucky while he’s raking it in
Got a wallet full of receipts and a pocket full of air
Counting every crumpled dollar like a half-said prayer
(Hook)
That red letter on the door keeps humming in my head
Every line on it sounds like “you’re better off dead”
I shuffle checks and coins till my fingers get sore
Still that red letter waits like a bouncer at the door
(Verse 3)
Landlord left a message saying “We really need to talk”
Funny how he disappears when I can barely walk
Laundry in a trash bag, dishes stacked to the moon
I keep playing tug of war with a coming afternoon
(Verse 4)
Neighbor’s getting hauled out, couch tossed in the rain
Baby crying down the hallway, mama drowning in pain
We pass each other silent on that cracked tile floor
Different names on the mail, same fear at the door
(Hook)
That red letter on the door keeps humming in my head
Every line on it sounds like “you’re better off dead”
I shuffle checks and coins till my fingers get sore
Still that red letter waits like a bouncer at the door
(Bridge)
I lay the light bill down by the rent like a bad card hand
Juggle promises and coffee while the city takes a stand
Scratch-off ticket in my pocket like a dirt cheap dream
While those pastel envelopes line up, teeth in a scheme
(Verse 5)
Streetlight flickers through the blinds like it’s taking notes
I’m rehearsing little speeches in my thrift-store coat
If tomorrow pays up, maybe I buy one more week
If it doesn’t, it’s a stairwell pillow and a sidewalk sleep
(Double Hook)
That red letter on the door keeps humming in my head
Every line on it sounds like “you’re better off dead”
I shuffle checks and coins till my fingers get sore
Still that red letter waits like a bouncer at the door
That red letter on the door keeps singing off-key
But I’m still here breathing where they thought I’d flee
Till the ink fades out or I can’t stand no more
I’ll be toe to toe with that paper at the door
Scrched walls and sin pills▾
Scrched Walls and Sin Pills
There’s chalk on the mirror, numbers that scream
A bed full of ashes where I used to dream
Voices play poker with wh’s left of my pride
They bet with my teeth and laugh while I hide
I dug through my chest to find my own name
Just a note that read “Too late to blame”
I sleep with a shovel and a phone with no line
Calling God collect one last time
Scrched walls and sin pills
Dancing with my shadow on prescription hills
I’m not alone, but no one’s real
Screaming through a smile they taught me to feel
My clock bleeds backwards, time cracks like glass
A whisper stitched needles straight into my past
I kissed the nurse with the stitched-on grin
Said, “Save your cure, I like the spin”
I traded the light for a cage with lace
Padded the walls with my mother’s face
And laughed like hell when the sky turned in
‘Cause madness knows how to make a man grin
Scrched walls and sin pills
Holy hallucinions with a hunger to kill
Don’t fix me—I’ve made peace with the itch
I’m the King of Cracked, and I ain’t switchin’ the glitch.
310 next—back to sleaze, filth, chaos, or fun. Let’s crank it dirty.
There’s chalk on the mirror, numbers that scream
A bed full of ashes where I used to dream
Voices play poker with wh’s left of my pride
They bet with my teeth and laugh while I hide
I dug through my chest to find my own name
Just a note that read “Too late to blame”
I sleep with a shovel and a phone with no line
Calling God collect one last time
Scrched walls and sin pills
Dancing with my shadow on prescription hills
I’m not alone, but no one’s real
Screaming through a smile they taught me to feel
My clock bleeds backwards, time cracks like glass
A whisper stitched needles straight into my past
I kissed the nurse with the stitched-on grin
Said, “Save your cure, I like the spin”
I traded the light for a cage with lace
Padded the walls with my mother’s face
And laughed like hell when the sky turned in
‘Cause madness knows how to make a man grin
Scrched walls and sin pills
Holy hallucinions with a hunger to kill
Don’t fix me—I’ve made peace with the itch
I’m the King of Cracked, and I ain’t switchin’ the glitch.
310 next—back to sleaze, filth, chaos, or fun. Let’s crank it dirty.
Shotgun Cherry▾
🎸 SONG #19: “Shotgun Cherry”
She showed up the gig in a red crop top
With heels that screamed and a strut that stopped
The bouncers dead, the bassline fl
She said, “I ain’t here for the band—just the br.”
Pulled me backstage, slammed the door
Pushed me down on a sticky floor
Said, “You better play like you fuckin’ mean—
I like my boys loud, fast, and obscene.”
Shotgun cherry, lips full of fire
Leher on skin, a backse choir
She came like thunder in a stolen dress
Left her nail prints deep in my chest
Yeah, shotgun cherry—hot, fast, and mean
And I still taste her when I hit that scream
She rode the be like a Harley night
Hair in my teeth, no wrong, no right
Said, “You want a setlist? Try my thighs—
I’ll show you chords you can’t memorize.”
No aftercare, no pretty talk
Just panties on amps and a lipstick shock
She licked her fingers, zipped her co
Said, “Tell your fans I was the best you wrote.”
Shotgun cherry, lips full of fire
Leher on skin, a backse choir
She came like thunder in a stolen dress
Left her nail prints deep in my chest
Yeah, shotgun cherry—hot, fast, and mean
And I still taste her when I hit that scream
She’s the kind you chase but never cch
Leaves you hard, wrecked, and short on cash
No goodbye—just the scent of sin
And a backstage echo that haunts your grin
Next town, same dive, same neon glow
Different name, but I swear it’s her show
She winked and mouthed, “You’ll never forget—
I’m the cherry you’ll always regret.”
Shotgun cherry, lips full of fire
Leher on skin, a backse choir
She came like thunder in a stolen dress
Left her nail prints deep in my chest
Yeah, shotgun cherry—hot, fast, and mean
And I scream her name in every scene
She’s a song I never wrote down
Just screamed
While she rode me
Into the breakdown
Th’s #19—red-hot, reckless, and unapologetically filthy.
Rolling into Song #20—we’re back in the raw nerve zone. Every even number pulls from that long list of real shit: sex, scars, sin, and everything that cuts deep or gets you off.
This one’s soaked in swe-soaked sheets and whispered titles in the dark. It’s about the somewhat dreams that wake you up panting, hard, and wishing the ghost in your bed would crawl back between your thighs.
She showed up the gig in a red crop top
With heels that screamed and a strut that stopped
The bouncers dead, the bassline fl
She said, “I ain’t here for the band—just the br.”
Pulled me backstage, slammed the door
Pushed me down on a sticky floor
Said, “You better play like you fuckin’ mean—
I like my boys loud, fast, and obscene.”
Shotgun cherry, lips full of fire
Leher on skin, a backse choir
She came like thunder in a stolen dress
Left her nail prints deep in my chest
Yeah, shotgun cherry—hot, fast, and mean
And I still taste her when I hit that scream
She rode the be like a Harley night
Hair in my teeth, no wrong, no right
Said, “You want a setlist? Try my thighs—
I’ll show you chords you can’t memorize.”
No aftercare, no pretty talk
Just panties on amps and a lipstick shock
She licked her fingers, zipped her co
Said, “Tell your fans I was the best you wrote.”
Shotgun cherry, lips full of fire
Leher on skin, a backse choir
She came like thunder in a stolen dress
Left her nail prints deep in my chest
Yeah, shotgun cherry—hot, fast, and mean
And I still taste her when I hit that scream
She’s the kind you chase but never cch
Leaves you hard, wrecked, and short on cash
No goodbye—just the scent of sin
And a backstage echo that haunts your grin
Next town, same dive, same neon glow
Different name, but I swear it’s her show
She winked and mouthed, “You’ll never forget—
I’m the cherry you’ll always regret.”
Shotgun cherry, lips full of fire
Leher on skin, a backse choir
She came like thunder in a stolen dress
Left her nail prints deep in my chest
Yeah, shotgun cherry—hot, fast, and mean
And I scream her name in every scene
She’s a song I never wrote down
Just screamed
While she rode me
Into the breakdown
Th’s #19—red-hot, reckless, and unapologetically filthy.
Rolling into Song #20—we’re back in the raw nerve zone. Every even number pulls from that long list of real shit: sex, scars, sin, and everything that cuts deep or gets you off.
This one’s soaked in swe-soaked sheets and whispered titles in the dark. It’s about the somewhat dreams that wake you up panting, hard, and wishing the ghost in your bed would crawl back between your thighs.
Snake Eyes and Sugar Lies▾
Snake Eyes and Sugar Lies
She had a mouth like bourbon and a kiss like he
Stole my wallet, my time, and the shoes off my feet
Smelled like trouble, walked like sin
I let her in ‘cause I wanted to lose again Her bedroom eyes played five-card che
She’d win your soul, then fuck up the be
Told me love was a loaded game
Pulled the trigger, moaned my name Snake eyes and sugar lies
She’ll rob your sleep, sell your highs
She’ll bite your heart, suck it dry
And smile while you ask her why Sunday prayers in a dirty motel
She lit the mch and wched me dwell
Said goodbye in a lipstick smear
Then rode off drunk without a gear She’s the reason preachers curse
that honey-laced, high-heeled curse
I’d thank her twice if pain could speak
But all I’ve got left is her bruises on my week Snake eyes and sugar lies
She’ll rob your sleep, sell your highs
She’ll bite your heart, suck it dry
And smile while you ask her why She was heaven in a shot glass, hell in heels
I lost my soul on her spinning wheels
Snake eyes, baby, th’s what I get
For betting on a girl I can’t forget.
She had a mouth like bourbon and a kiss like he
Stole my wallet, my time, and the shoes off my feet
Smelled like trouble, walked like sin
I let her in ‘cause I wanted to lose again Her bedroom eyes played five-card che
She’d win your soul, then fuck up the be
Told me love was a loaded game
Pulled the trigger, moaned my name Snake eyes and sugar lies
She’ll rob your sleep, sell your highs
She’ll bite your heart, suck it dry
And smile while you ask her why Sunday prayers in a dirty motel
She lit the mch and wched me dwell
Said goodbye in a lipstick smear
Then rode off drunk without a gear She’s the reason preachers curse
that honey-laced, high-heeled curse
I’d thank her twice if pain could speak
But all I’ve got left is her bruises on my week Snake eyes and sugar lies
She’ll rob your sleep, sell your highs
She’ll bite your heart, suck it dry
And smile while you ask her why She was heaven in a shot glass, hell in heels
I lost my soul on her spinning wheels
Snake eyes, baby, th’s what I get
For betting on a girl I can’t forget.
Snake Eyes▾
She rolls
snake eyes
every time
snake eyes
every time
And I keep
betting
everything
Her smile
lands crooked
on my chest
Like a fist
wrapped in
something soft
Snake eyes, I lose again,
she takes the whole table clean,
I put it all back up
and she rolls mean
Her fingers
on the felt
move slow
Deliberate
like a woman
counting scars
She looks up
through lashes
dark as pitch
And deals me
something
I cannot fold
Snake eyes, I lose again,
she takes the whole table clean,
I put it all back up
and she rolls mean
I have lost
my shirt
my sense
My ability
to stand
and leave
She picks up
the dice
and blows
Breath warm
on her knuckles
and on mine
And I stay
for the wreckage
every time
Snake-Eyed Shuffle▾
Snake-Eyed Shuffle
She danced like a storm with a venomous grin
Boots on the table, drink soaked in sin
Said she once married a man with a top
Now she beds devils just to drag ’em down She’s got a switchblade stare and a noose for charm
Knows how to smile while breaking your arm
that back alley gospel rolls off her tongue
Her laugh’s got the sound of a loaded gun Snake-eyed shuffle in the he of the night
She’ll kiss you once, then twist you tight
Ain’t no heaven where her boots have tread
Just lipstick stains and broken bedheads She lit up the bar like a Molotov vow
Said, “I ain’t salvation, just watch me now”
Every man thinks heat’ll tame that flame
‘Til she leaves ’em limping, forgettin’ their name Don’t ask her for truth—she’ll sell you a lie
And smile while you buy it, then wave goodbye Snake-eyed shuffle in the he of the night
She’ll kiss you once, then twist you tight
Ain’t no heaven where her boots have tread
Just lipstick stains and broken bedheads She don’t beg, she don’t plead
She don’t love—she feeds.
She danced like a storm with a venomous grin
Boots on the table, drink soaked in sin
Said she once married a man with a top
Now she beds devils just to drag ’em down She’s got a switchblade stare and a noose for charm
Knows how to smile while breaking your arm
that back alley gospel rolls off her tongue
Her laugh’s got the sound of a loaded gun Snake-eyed shuffle in the he of the night
She’ll kiss you once, then twist you tight
Ain’t no heaven where her boots have tread
Just lipstick stains and broken bedheads She lit up the bar like a Molotov vow
Said, “I ain’t salvation, just watch me now”
Every man thinks heat’ll tame that flame
‘Til she leaves ’em limping, forgettin’ their name Don’t ask her for truth—she’ll sell you a lie
And smile while you buy it, then wave goodbye Snake-eyed shuffle in the he of the night
She’ll kiss you once, then twist you tight
Ain’t no heaven where her boots have tread
Just lipstick stains and broken bedheads She don’t beg, she don’t plead
She don’t love—she feeds.
Steel Horse▾
Beneath the iron clouds and their weary scorn,
a beast of steel awakens, sleek and forlorn.
Its sinews hum with an untamed power,
a predor bred for the breakneck hour.
Wheels scream defiance against gravel and dirt,
a savage hymn for those who crave the hurt.
The road stretches out, a ribbon of defiance,
challenging gods with mechanical reliance.
Chrome reflects the scars of the sun,
each mile a battle, each victory won.
Its heart bes in pistons, violent and true,
a cadence of thunder tearing the sky’s blue.
Riders cling to its relentless pace,
their faces marked by the wind’s embrace.
Helmets hide eyes that burn like stars,
chasing the end where asphalt scars.
it thrives on chaos, on fury and nails.
It spits the quiet, devours the calm,
leaving roads to smolder, bereft of balm.
Gasoline tears and a fury untamed—
its voice is a roar, its soul unchained.
Every curve threens to break its hold,
a game of speed where nerves run cold.
The horizon calls like a lover’s deceit,
beckoning with promises it’ll never meet.
But the steel horse doesn’t yearn or plead;
it exists to devour, to hunger, to need.
Night falls, and the stars mock its path,
each one a reminder of time’s cruel wrh.
But it does not falter, nor does it care,
it feeds on motion, on risk, on dare.
When dawn breaks over a weary earth,
the beast slows down, assessing its worth.
Exhaust bleeds whispers into the air,
a fleeting confession, both raw and rare.
For the steel horse knows its mortal plight,
it rides against time, against the night.
But until it succumbs, it will always strive,
a creure of purpose, electric, alive.
a beast of steel awakens, sleek and forlorn.
Its sinews hum with an untamed power,
a predor bred for the breakneck hour.
Wheels scream defiance against gravel and dirt,
a savage hymn for those who crave the hurt.
The road stretches out, a ribbon of defiance,
challenging gods with mechanical reliance.
Chrome reflects the scars of the sun,
each mile a battle, each victory won.
Its heart bes in pistons, violent and true,
a cadence of thunder tearing the sky’s blue.
Riders cling to its relentless pace,
their faces marked by the wind’s embrace.
Helmets hide eyes that burn like stars,
chasing the end where asphalt scars.
it thrives on chaos, on fury and nails.
It spits the quiet, devours the calm,
leaving roads to smolder, bereft of balm.
Gasoline tears and a fury untamed—
its voice is a roar, its soul unchained.
Every curve threens to break its hold,
a game of speed where nerves run cold.
The horizon calls like a lover’s deceit,
beckoning with promises it’ll never meet.
But the steel horse doesn’t yearn or plead;
it exists to devour, to hunger, to need.
Night falls, and the stars mock its path,
each one a reminder of time’s cruel wrh.
But it does not falter, nor does it care,
it feeds on motion, on risk, on dare.
When dawn breaks over a weary earth,
the beast slows down, assessing its worth.
Exhaust bleeds whispers into the air,
a fleeting confession, both raw and rare.
For the steel horse knows its mortal plight,
it rides against time, against the night.
But until it succumbs, it will always strive,
a creure of purpose, electric, alive.
The Bar Bet▾
The Bar Bet
She made a bet with me at the bar on the Saturday night we met,
The specifics of the bet are between the two of us and the cigarette,
Machine in the corner that was not operational but present,
She wrote the terms on a cocktail napkin and said let’s make this pleasant.
I said you’ve done this before and she said I do what works,
And I said fair enough and I signed the napkin and the perks,
Of the specific arrangement she’d designed were evident immediately,
She said I usually win these bets, I said I’ll comply completely.
The bar bet, she wrote the terms on a cocktail napkin with a pen,
The bar bet, she’d come prepared, and then,
She handed it across and said read it and then sign if you agree,
The bar bet, I read it and I signed immediately,
Some things in life you just say yes to without the full deliberation,
The bar bet, that’s the education.
The bet itself was elegant and had two possible outcomes and I,
Was not opposed to either based on the terms, I won’t lie,
To you about the nature of the thing she was proposing,
The losing was as good as winning in the disclosing.
Of the terms on the cocktail napkin, she had designed something,
Where both outcomes of the bet were worth the numbering,
As preferred outcomes for both parties in the arrangement,
She said I’m good at this and I said I’m in agreement.
The bar bet, she wrote the terms on a cocktail napkin with a pen,
The bar bet, she’d come prepared, and then,
She handed it across and said read it and then sign if you agree,
The bar bet, I read it and I signed immediately,
Some things in life you just say yes to without the full deliberation,
The bar bet, that’s the education.
I lost the bet which required the payment of the agreed terms,
And she collected with the professional ease of someone who confirms,
The outcome was exactly as expected, she’d seen it coming,
I said did you know I’d lose and she said I was running.
The probability at about seventy-thirty in my favor,
I said that’s a comfortable margin and she said savor,
The specific experience of being the thirty percent,
The bar bet, that’s money well spent.
She made a bet with me at the bar on the Saturday night we met,
The specifics of the bet are between the two of us and the cigarette,
Machine in the corner that was not operational but present,
She wrote the terms on a cocktail napkin and said let’s make this pleasant.
I said you’ve done this before and she said I do what works,
And I said fair enough and I signed the napkin and the perks,
Of the specific arrangement she’d designed were evident immediately,
She said I usually win these bets, I said I’ll comply completely.
The bar bet, she wrote the terms on a cocktail napkin with a pen,
The bar bet, she’d come prepared, and then,
She handed it across and said read it and then sign if you agree,
The bar bet, I read it and I signed immediately,
Some things in life you just say yes to without the full deliberation,
The bar bet, that’s the education.
The bet itself was elegant and had two possible outcomes and I,
Was not opposed to either based on the terms, I won’t lie,
To you about the nature of the thing she was proposing,
The losing was as good as winning in the disclosing.
Of the terms on the cocktail napkin, she had designed something,
Where both outcomes of the bet were worth the numbering,
As preferred outcomes for both parties in the arrangement,
She said I’m good at this and I said I’m in agreement.
The bar bet, she wrote the terms on a cocktail napkin with a pen,
The bar bet, she’d come prepared, and then,
She handed it across and said read it and then sign if you agree,
The bar bet, I read it and I signed immediately,
Some things in life you just say yes to without the full deliberation,
The bar bet, that’s the education.
I lost the bet which required the payment of the agreed terms,
And she collected with the professional ease of someone who confirms,
The outcome was exactly as expected, she’d seen it coming,
I said did you know I’d lose and she said I was running.
The probability at about seventy-thirty in my favor,
I said that’s a comfortable margin and she said savor,
The specific experience of being the thirty percent,
The bar bet, that’s money well spent.
The Black Swan Bet▾
The Black Swan Bet
He allocates three percent of the fund every year,
To options that pay off in the catastrophic event,
The market crash, the credit crisis, the atomic fear,
The tail risk that the normal distribution has not spent.
The black swan bet, the insurance on the impossible,
The black swan bet, the tail risk and the possible,
The black swan bet loses money every ordinary year,
The black swan bet pays for the catastrophic fear.
His investors complain about the three percent drag,
On the annual return in the normal market years,
They ask him why he holds the portfolio lag,
Of options that expire worthless in the cheers.
He tells them the three percent is the premium paid,
For protection against the event that ends the fund,
He tells them that the crisis of two thousand eight displayed,
The exact scenario his portfolio was designed for and found.
In two thousand eight his fund gained forty percent,
While the average fund lost thirty on the year,
The investors who had complained about the bent,
Drag of the insurance suddenly found it dear.
He allocates three percent of the fund every year,
To options that pay off in the catastrophic event,
The market crash, the credit crisis, the atomic fear,
The tail risk that the normal distribution has not spent.
The black swan bet, the insurance on the impossible,
The black swan bet, the tail risk and the possible,
The black swan bet loses money every ordinary year,
The black swan bet pays for the catastrophic fear.
His investors complain about the three percent drag,
On the annual return in the normal market years,
They ask him why he holds the portfolio lag,
Of options that expire worthless in the cheers.
He tells them the three percent is the premium paid,
For protection against the event that ends the fund,
He tells them that the crisis of two thousand eight displayed,
The exact scenario his portfolio was designed for and found.
In two thousand eight his fund gained forty percent,
While the average fund lost thirty on the year,
The investors who had complained about the bent,
Drag of the insurance suddenly found it dear.
The Bounty▾
The Bounty
The garden overloads itself in late summer
The zucchini that became the number
One thing people dodge at the county fair
Everybody’s got them, nobody’s aware
Of what to do with thirty in a week
The tomatoes splitting on the vine, the peak
Of everything at once, the bounty lands
All together, more than I have hands
The bounty, overloaded on the vine
The bounty, all at once at the finish line
The harvest window tight and short and full
The bounty, the beautiful and brutal
The preservation kicks in, the canning starts
The freezing and the pickling and the arts
Of making the abundance last the year
The bounty pressed into the future here
The mason jars lined up in rows of red
The tomatoes put away, the dread
Of the winter’s bare store held at bay
The bounty becoming the February day
Nothing wasted if I work it right
Nothing going bad if I put the night
Into the processing, the kitchen running hot
With the canning season’s everything-I-got
My grandmother canned three hundred jars
She fed a family through the empty bars
Of February off the summer’s store
The bounty she preserved, a hundred more
The bounty, overloaded on the vine
The bounty, all at once at the finish line
The harvest window tight and short and full
The bounty, the beautiful and brutal
The garden overloads itself in late summer
The zucchini that became the number
One thing people dodge at the county fair
Everybody’s got them, nobody’s aware
Of what to do with thirty in a week
The tomatoes splitting on the vine, the peak
Of everything at once, the bounty lands
All together, more than I have hands
The bounty, overloaded on the vine
The bounty, all at once at the finish line
The harvest window tight and short and full
The bounty, the beautiful and brutal
The preservation kicks in, the canning starts
The freezing and the pickling and the arts
Of making the abundance last the year
The bounty pressed into the future here
The mason jars lined up in rows of red
The tomatoes put away, the dread
Of the winter’s bare store held at bay
The bounty becoming the February day
Nothing wasted if I work it right
Nothing going bad if I put the night
Into the processing, the kitchen running hot
With the canning season’s everything-I-got
My grandmother canned three hundred jars
She fed a family through the empty bars
Of February off the summer’s store
The bounty she preserved, a hundred more
The bounty, overloaded on the vine
The bounty, all at once at the finish line
The harvest window tight and short and full
The bounty, the beautiful and brutal
The chains grow tighter, the walls cave in,▾
The chains grow tighter, the walls cave in,
A battle fought through dust and sin.
But in the ruin, the embers glow,
A strength I find, a truth I know.
A battle fought through dust and sin.
But in the ruin, the embers glow,
A strength I find, a truth I know.
The Combat Outpost▾
The Combat Outpost
Twelve men and a patch of ground and a wall of HESCO bags,
and the mission is to hold the ground against the drags
and pushes of the insurgency that wants the valley road,
and the combat outpost is the fixture and the load.
We named it after someone who was lost before we got there,
and the naming is the thing you do because you need to share
the history of the place with all the costs already paid,
and the combat outpost carries every man who made
it theirs before you, and you make it yours until the next,
and the combat outpost is the most basic kind of text.
The combat outpost, the combat outpost,
twelve men and a wall and the thing that matters most,
the combat outpost, the combat outpost,
holding what the policy says to hold and no one boasts,
because the holding is just the work and the work is just the day,
and the combat outpost is where you live until you go away,
the combat outpost, the combat outpost.
The local elder came to drink tea three times a week,
and the intelligence he gave us was the kind we did not seek
in any official capacity because the protocol was clear,
and the elder told us things and then he would disappear.
When we handed off the outpost to the unit coming in,
we briefed them for six hours on the history and the thin
lines of what worked and what did not and who to trust and more,
the combat outpost, the sum of everything a war.
The combat outpost, the combat outpost,
twelve men and a wall and the thing that matters most,
the combat outpost, the combat outpost,
holding what the policy says to hold and no one boasts,
because the holding is just the work and the work is just the day,
and the combat outpost is where you live until you go away,
the combat outpost, the combat outpost.
Twelve men and a patch of ground and a wall of HESCO bags,
and the mission is to hold the ground against the drags
and pushes of the insurgency that wants the valley road,
and the combat outpost is the fixture and the load.
We named it after someone who was lost before we got there,
and the naming is the thing you do because you need to share
the history of the place with all the costs already paid,
and the combat outpost carries every man who made
it theirs before you, and you make it yours until the next,
and the combat outpost is the most basic kind of text.
The combat outpost, the combat outpost,
twelve men and a wall and the thing that matters most,
the combat outpost, the combat outpost,
holding what the policy says to hold and no one boasts,
because the holding is just the work and the work is just the day,
and the combat outpost is where you live until you go away,
the combat outpost, the combat outpost.
The local elder came to drink tea three times a week,
and the intelligence he gave us was the kind we did not seek
in any official capacity because the protocol was clear,
and the elder told us things and then he would disappear.
When we handed off the outpost to the unit coming in,
we briefed them for six hours on the history and the thin
lines of what worked and what did not and who to trust and more,
the combat outpost, the sum of everything a war.
The combat outpost, the combat outpost,
twelve men and a wall and the thing that matters most,
the combat outpost, the combat outpost,
holding what the policy says to hold and no one boasts,
because the holding is just the work and the work is just the day,
and the combat outpost is where you live until you go away,
the combat outpost, the combat outpost.
The Corporate Greed▾
I’ve been rebranded seventeen times in the last decade and a half,
I’ve got a sustainability report and a corporate photograph,
I pay a PR firm to make the pillaging look like care—
The corporate greed has always known how to dress for the affair.
I’ve got a sustainability report and a corporate photograph,
I pay a PR firm to make the pillaging look like care—
The corporate greed has always known how to dress for the affair.
I am the signature at the bottom of the thing that costs you most,
The friendly face of everything from the boardroom to the coast,
I’ll lay off three divisions and I’ll call it streamlining for growth—
The corporate greed is always going to get away with both.
I moved the plant across the ocean where the labor runs thin,
Then donated to the scholarship and called it discipline,
I purchased the regulator through a five-step holding shell—
The corporate greed is everywhere and doing very well.
You want to boycott me but I own the alternative brand,
You want to vote me out but I own the entire hand,
I’m in your 401k and I’m in the pension fund—
The corporate greed is the economy of everything undone.
So rage against the system and write letters to the press,
The corporate greed finds every protest charming, more or less,
I’ll buy the movement when it builds enough momentum and traction—
The corporate greed is always one acquisition from satisfaction.
The Crooked City▾
The Crooked City
City where shadows twist and streets wind with a malevolent grace hiding secrets in the dark
Corners conceal dark secrets and alleys hold a sinister embrace where shadows leave their mark
Crooked City where dreams and nightmares intermingle as shadows guide hearts on a twisted arc
Darkness consumes light as dreams shatter Crooked City becomes a maze of despair so stark
Crooked City where shadows rule and streets wind with a dark intent leading hearts astray
Heart of the city where dreams and fears blend whispers torment as shadows extend their sway
Alleys sing tales of journeys lost hearts rent by shadows that transcend the light of day
Land of twisted paths where souls are lost to darkness shadows defend their cruel play
Streets of Crooked City where lost souls wander in fear as shadows consume the light
Steps through darkness reveal dreams that fade and shadows that hide in plain sight
Twisted dreams lead hearts astray in Crooked City where shadows thrive in the night
Darkness envelops dreams as hearts are swayed by shadows that feed on fright
Crooked City where shadows rule and streets wind with a dark intent leading hearts astray
Heart of the city where dreams and fears blend whispers torment as shadows extend their sway
Alleys sing tales of journeys lost hearts rent by shadows that transcend the light of day
Land of twisted paths where souls are lost to darkness shadows defend their cruel play
Crooked streets where shadows hold sway and despair grips hearts in dismay
Steps taken reveal a city where courage frays and nightmares come out to play
Darkness consumes light in Crooked City where twisted dreams lead hearts astray
Shadows convey the pain of lost souls as they journey through night’s dark display
Crooked City where shadows rule and streets wind with a dark intent leading hearts astray
Heart of the city where dreams and fears blend whispers torment as shadows extend their sway
Alleys sing tales of journeys lost hearts rent by shadows that transcend the light of day
Land of twisted paths where souls are lost to darkness shadows defend their cruel play
City where shadows twist and streets wind with a malevolent grace hiding secrets in the dark
Corners conceal dark secrets and alleys hold a sinister embrace where shadows leave their mark
Crooked City where dreams and nightmares intermingle as shadows guide hearts on a twisted arc
Darkness consumes light as dreams shatter Crooked City becomes a maze of despair so stark
Crooked City where shadows rule and streets wind with a dark intent leading hearts astray
Heart of the city where dreams and fears blend whispers torment as shadows extend their sway
Alleys sing tales of journeys lost hearts rent by shadows that transcend the light of day
Land of twisted paths where souls are lost to darkness shadows defend their cruel play
Streets of Crooked City where lost souls wander in fear as shadows consume the light
Steps through darkness reveal dreams that fade and shadows that hide in plain sight
Twisted dreams lead hearts astray in Crooked City where shadows thrive in the night
Darkness envelops dreams as hearts are swayed by shadows that feed on fright
Crooked City where shadows rule and streets wind with a dark intent leading hearts astray
Heart of the city where dreams and fears blend whispers torment as shadows extend their sway
Alleys sing tales of journeys lost hearts rent by shadows that transcend the light of day
Land of twisted paths where souls are lost to darkness shadows defend their cruel play
Crooked streets where shadows hold sway and despair grips hearts in dismay
Steps taken reveal a city where courage frays and nightmares come out to play
Darkness consumes light in Crooked City where twisted dreams lead hearts astray
Shadows convey the pain of lost souls as they journey through night’s dark display
Crooked City where shadows rule and streets wind with a dark intent leading hearts astray
Heart of the city where dreams and fears blend whispers torment as shadows extend their sway
Alleys sing tales of journeys lost hearts rent by shadows that transcend the light of day
Land of twisted paths where souls are lost to darkness shadows defend their cruel play
The Debt Collector▾
He doesn’t use the front door and he doesn’t need the light,
He keeps his ledger in the hours just before the night breaks right,
His arithmetic is absolute — you signed it in your skin —
Every compound interest rolled to what you owe him in the end.
He keeps his ledger in the hours just before the night breaks right,
His arithmetic is absolute — you signed it in your skin —
Every compound interest rolled to what you owe him in the end.
He counts in increments of suffering, his currency is dread,
He’s been accumulating interest from the moment that you bled,
You can’t negotiate the principal or plead against the toll—
The Debt Collector’s coming and the balance is your soul.
He moves through the locked apartment in the hollow between three and four,
Sits beside the sleepless in the cold beneath the floor,
He doesn’t threaten, doesn’t argue — he just settles in and waits,
Patient as the season, certain as the closing of the gates.
He stood behind the consequence the morning of your worst decision,
Watched the fallout propagate with cold and careful precision,
He doesn’t hate you — hate would be a luxury he’s past —
He’s doing mathematics on a debt too large to last.
You can drink against the reckoning and sleep against the fear,
Dissolve into a different city, disappear from here,
But every forwarding address just routes to where the ledger sleeps—
The Debt Collector holds the compound of the obligations you keep.
The Eating of the Lucky▾
The Eating of the Lucky
I eat what I eat because I landed here
Not because I earned the spread, not clear
That the deserving is the system’s rule
More like the lottery of the birthpool
Determining the neighborhood and food
And income level and the likelihood
Of eating what I eat or not eating well
The eating of the lucky, what I tell
The eating of the lucky, born in right
The eating of the lucky, here tonight
At the loaded table without the cause
Of the deserving, just because
The zip code and the era and the race
Of the birth all fell into the place
That gave me access to the eating’s bounty
The eating of the lucky, the county
Lottery, the national lottery
The eating of the lucky, not pillory
Yourself about it but the honest look
The eating of the lucky, take a book
The eating of the lucky has a cost
The uncounted cost of what gets lost
In the systems that deliver this table
The eating of the lucky is the label
Of the eater who eats without the full
Accounting, the eating of the pull
Of the fortunate circumstance, the long
Privilege of the eating, the ongoing song
The eating of the lucky, born in right
The eating of the lucky, here tonight
At the loaded table without the cause
Of the deserving, just because
I eat what I eat because I landed here
Not because I earned the spread, not clear
That the deserving is the system’s rule
More like the lottery of the birthpool
Determining the neighborhood and food
And income level and the likelihood
Of eating what I eat or not eating well
The eating of the lucky, what I tell
The eating of the lucky, born in right
The eating of the lucky, here tonight
At the loaded table without the cause
Of the deserving, just because
The zip code and the era and the race
Of the birth all fell into the place
That gave me access to the eating’s bounty
The eating of the lucky, the county
Lottery, the national lottery
The eating of the lucky, not pillory
Yourself about it but the honest look
The eating of the lucky, take a book
The eating of the lucky has a cost
The uncounted cost of what gets lost
In the systems that deliver this table
The eating of the lucky is the label
Of the eater who eats without the full
Accounting, the eating of the pull
Of the fortunate circumstance, the long
Privilege of the eating, the ongoing song
The eating of the lucky, born in right
The eating of the lucky, here tonight
At the loaded table without the cause
Of the deserving, just because
The feast lasts until sweat cools and pulses slow and hands stop shaking,▾
The feast lasts until sweat cools and pulses slow and hands stop shaking,
Bodies resting against one another in a tangle that feels earned.
Bodies resting against one another in a tangle that feels earned.
The Full Accounting▾
The Full Accounting
The complicated want requires the full
Accounting of the whole complicated pull
Of all its factors, the full honest look
At every entry in the ledger book
Of the wanting and its conditions all
The full accounting before I fall
The full accounting of the wanting here
The full accounting makes the complicated clear
The full accounting of everything I feel
The full accounting is the realest deal
I owe the full accounting to myself
I owe it to the wanting on the shelf
Of my honest self to look at it clearly
The complicated want deserves the really
Honest reckoning of what it is
And what it’s going to cost, the quiz
The full accounting of the wanting here
The full accounting makes the complicated clear
The full accounting of everything I feel
The full accounting is the realest deal
The full accounting isn’t joy-destroying
The full accounting isn’t the annoying
Kill of desire, it’s the respect
That the complicated want expects
From the man who carries it, the care
The full accounting clears the complicated air
The full accounting of the wanting here
The full accounting makes the complicated clear
The full accounting of everything I feel
The full accounting is the realest deal
The complicated want requires the full
Accounting of the whole complicated pull
Of all its factors, the full honest look
At every entry in the ledger book
Of the wanting and its conditions all
The full accounting before I fall
The full accounting of the wanting here
The full accounting makes the complicated clear
The full accounting of everything I feel
The full accounting is the realest deal
I owe the full accounting to myself
I owe it to the wanting on the shelf
Of my honest self to look at it clearly
The complicated want deserves the really
Honest reckoning of what it is
And what it’s going to cost, the quiz
The full accounting of the wanting here
The full accounting makes the complicated clear
The full accounting of everything I feel
The full accounting is the realest deal
The full accounting isn’t joy-destroying
The full accounting isn’t the annoying
Kill of desire, it’s the respect
That the complicated want expects
From the man who carries it, the care
The full accounting clears the complicated air
The full accounting of the wanting here
The full accounting makes the complicated clear
The full accounting of everything I feel
The full accounting is the realest deal
The Hollow Bell▾
The steeple rises like a jagged blade against the sun
I hear the rattling of the silver in the cleric’s run
He screams of mercy while he strips the leather from the poor
A predator in vestments pounding on the humble door
The bell is swinging but the iron tongue is made of greed
It doesn’t sing for spirit or for any human need
It sounds like nickel hitting glass within a desert wind
A dry and hollow resonance for every soul that’s sinned
I hear the rattling of the silver in the cleric’s run
He screams of mercy while he strips the leather from the poor
A predator in vestments pounding on the humble door
The bell is swinging but the iron tongue is made of greed
It doesn’t sing for spirit or for any human need
It sounds like nickel hitting glass within a desert wind
A dry and hollow resonance for every soul that’s sinned
Hear the hollow bell screaming for the tax of the soul
The preacher takes the spirit and he swallows it whole
It’s a heavy metal racket of the coin and the plate
We’re buying up our entrance through the golden fucking gate
The hollow bell is ringing with a thieving cold sound
Burying the truth six feet under the ground
He wears a suit of silk and promises a cloud of light
While families are starving underneath the parking lot light
The sanctuary reeks of perfume and of polished floor
While heavy-booted ushers guard the holy heavy door
He screams about the fire but he’s stoking it himself
With every dollar gathered for his overflowing shelf
I’ll scream back at the rafters till the stained glass starts to crack
I’m taking every stolen second of my spirit back
The tolling of the tower is a mockery of grace
A plastic manufactured mask upon a greedy face
Hear the hollow bell screaming for the tax of the soul
The preacher takes the spirit and he swallows it whole
It’s a heavy metal racket of the coin and the plate
We’re buying up our entrance through the golden fucking gate
The hollow bell is ringing with a thieving cold sound
Burying the truth six feet under the ground
The collection plate is circling like a shark within the bay
The congregants are bleeding while they try to find a way
To pay for pews in paradise that don’t even exist
Controlled by every lie that’s falling from the prophet’s fist
I see the wires pulling at the puppets in the choir
A ritual of robbery dressed up as holy hire
The bell isn’t bronze, it’s a vacuum in the sky
A copper-coated bucket for the big eternal lie
I’ll break the chain and watch the heavy hammer fall to dust
Before I give my labor to this predatory lust
Hear the hollow bell screaming for the tax of the soul
The preacher takes the spirit and he swallows it whole
It’s a heavy metal racket of the coin and the plate
We’re buying up our entrance through the golden fucking gate
The hollow bell is ringing with a thieving cold sound
Burying the truth six feet under the ground
The Hters Gamble▾
The Hter’s Gamble
Heart of darkness dreams fade fears arise Hter’s gamble with fate shadows defies souls cry
Steps through shadows cards of despair fate slides Hter’s courage denies hearts lie
Contest of shadows where dreams and hearts bide whispers of deceit shadows hide
Darkness consumes Hter’s game where souls cannot escape dreams collide
Hter’s gamble shadows hold cards of fate where hearts rele and dreams cree
Heart of night where fears lay whispers of journey await shadows heat
Deck tells tales of fate shadows ge where dreams await and hearts beat
Land of endless shadows where souls cree a fe’s me shadows state
Steps dance through shadows cards of fright Hter’s courage takes flight under night’s might
Contest where dreams fade and shadows shine Hter’s play reveals hearts tight
Twisted whimsy where shadows guide dreams through the night Hter’s fate hearts light
Darkness consumes Hter’s game where cards fall and hearts fight
Hter’s gamble shadows hold cards of fate where hearts rele and dreams cree
Heart of night where fears lay whispers of journey await shadows heat
Deck tells tales of fate shadows ge where dreams await and hearts beat
Land of endless shadows where souls cree a fe’s me shadows state
Contest of shadows where steps sway leading to despair hearts fray
Heart of gamble where dreams lay courage fades shadows play
Darkness consumes hearts betray Hter’s game shadows gray
Twisted dreams shadows convey hearts display the gamble’s sway
Hter’s gamble shadows hold cards of fate where hearts rele and dreams cree
Heart of night where fears lay whispers of journey await shadows heat
Deck tells tales of fate shadows ge where dreams await and hearts beat
Land of endless shadows where souls cree a fe’s me shadows state
Song 11.5: The Spider Queen’s Origins
Shadows of past where dreams fade and fears arise Spider Queen’s tale begins in deceitful lies
Steps through darkness where shadows defy and Spider Queen’s presence leads to demise
Twisted dreams where shadows reveal hidden truths Spider Queen’s reign begins with hearts’ cries
Darkness consumes as Spider Queen’s tale unfolds and her soul arises within shadows’ wise
Spider Queen’s origins shadows hold secrets of her reign where dreams remain and fears sustain
Heart of past where dreams and fears retain whispers of journey through pain shadows gain
Tales of darkness where shadows contain dreams that explain and hearts ordain
Land of endless shadows where souls gain strength from reign’s campaign shadows feign
Whispers of sorrow lead to steps of fright within shadows’ might Spider Queen’s light
Shadows reveal twisted dreams within hearts’ sight Spider Queen’s night shines bright
Presence of Spider Queen where shadows take flight revealing dreams through shadows’ height
Darkness consumes as Spider Queen’s tale unfolds under night’s spite shadows’ kite
Spider Queen’s origins shadows hold secrets of her reign where dreams remain and fears sustain
Heart of past where dreams and fears retain whispers of journey through pain shadows gain
Tales of darkness where shadows contain dreams that explain and hearts ordain
Land of endless shadows where souls gain strength from reign’s campaign shadows feign
Journey through shadows where dreams sway leading to despair hearts fray
Heart of tale where courage lay and dreams display shadows play
Darkness consumes hearts betray Queen’s reign shadows gray
Twisted dreams shadows convey hearts display the reign’s sway
Spider Queen’s origins shadows hold secrets of her reign where dreams remain and fears sustain
Heart of past where dreams and fears retain whispers of journey through pain shadows gain
Tales of darkness where shadows contain dreams that explain and hearts ordain
Land of endless shadows where souls gain strength from reign’s campaign shadows feign
Heart of darkness dreams fade fears arise Hter’s gamble with fate shadows defies souls cry
Steps through shadows cards of despair fate slides Hter’s courage denies hearts lie
Contest of shadows where dreams and hearts bide whispers of deceit shadows hide
Darkness consumes Hter’s game where souls cannot escape dreams collide
Hter’s gamble shadows hold cards of fate where hearts rele and dreams cree
Heart of night where fears lay whispers of journey await shadows heat
Deck tells tales of fate shadows ge where dreams await and hearts beat
Land of endless shadows where souls cree a fe’s me shadows state
Steps dance through shadows cards of fright Hter’s courage takes flight under night’s might
Contest where dreams fade and shadows shine Hter’s play reveals hearts tight
Twisted whimsy where shadows guide dreams through the night Hter’s fate hearts light
Darkness consumes Hter’s game where cards fall and hearts fight
Hter’s gamble shadows hold cards of fate where hearts rele and dreams cree
Heart of night where fears lay whispers of journey await shadows heat
Deck tells tales of fate shadows ge where dreams await and hearts beat
Land of endless shadows where souls cree a fe’s me shadows state
Contest of shadows where steps sway leading to despair hearts fray
Heart of gamble where dreams lay courage fades shadows play
Darkness consumes hearts betray Hter’s game shadows gray
Twisted dreams shadows convey hearts display the gamble’s sway
Hter’s gamble shadows hold cards of fate where hearts rele and dreams cree
Heart of night where fears lay whispers of journey await shadows heat
Deck tells tales of fate shadows ge where dreams await and hearts beat
Land of endless shadows where souls cree a fe’s me shadows state
Song 11.5: The Spider Queen’s Origins
Shadows of past where dreams fade and fears arise Spider Queen’s tale begins in deceitful lies
Steps through darkness where shadows defy and Spider Queen’s presence leads to demise
Twisted dreams where shadows reveal hidden truths Spider Queen’s reign begins with hearts’ cries
Darkness consumes as Spider Queen’s tale unfolds and her soul arises within shadows’ wise
Spider Queen’s origins shadows hold secrets of her reign where dreams remain and fears sustain
Heart of past where dreams and fears retain whispers of journey through pain shadows gain
Tales of darkness where shadows contain dreams that explain and hearts ordain
Land of endless shadows where souls gain strength from reign’s campaign shadows feign
Whispers of sorrow lead to steps of fright within shadows’ might Spider Queen’s light
Shadows reveal twisted dreams within hearts’ sight Spider Queen’s night shines bright
Presence of Spider Queen where shadows take flight revealing dreams through shadows’ height
Darkness consumes as Spider Queen’s tale unfolds under night’s spite shadows’ kite
Spider Queen’s origins shadows hold secrets of her reign where dreams remain and fears sustain
Heart of past where dreams and fears retain whispers of journey through pain shadows gain
Tales of darkness where shadows contain dreams that explain and hearts ordain
Land of endless shadows where souls gain strength from reign’s campaign shadows feign
Journey through shadows where dreams sway leading to despair hearts fray
Heart of tale where courage lay and dreams display shadows play
Darkness consumes hearts betray Queen’s reign shadows gray
Twisted dreams shadows convey hearts display the reign’s sway
Spider Queen’s origins shadows hold secrets of her reign where dreams remain and fears sustain
Heart of past where dreams and fears retain whispers of journey through pain shadows gain
Tales of darkness where shadows contain dreams that explain and hearts ordain
Land of endless shadows where souls gain strength from reign’s campaign shadows feign
The Last Civilized Man▾
He built the empire out of handshakes and the willingness to outlast everyone in the room
Learned early that the loudest man is rarely the most dangerous
So he got quiet
And got dangerous
Every bridge he crossed he assessed for structural weakness before he decided whether to burn it
Not from cruelty — from arithmetic
The kind of arithmetic that doesn’t have a column for sentiment or history or the way a man looked at you in 1987 like you were someone worth knowing
Fifteen years and the place runs like a clock he wound so tight it doesn’t need him anymore
Which was always the goal
Which is somehow also the wound
Learned early that the loudest man is rarely the most dangerous
So he got quiet
And got dangerous
Every bridge he crossed he assessed for structural weakness before he decided whether to burn it
Not from cruelty — from arithmetic
The kind of arithmetic that doesn’t have a column for sentiment or history or the way a man looked at you in 1987 like you were someone worth knowing
Fifteen years and the place runs like a clock he wound so tight it doesn’t need him anymore
Which was always the goal
Which is somehow also the wound
There’s a photograph
He doesn’t look at it
Hasn’t since looking stopped being
Operationally useful
Which tells you everything
The photograph can’t
Last civilized man in a room he cleared himself
Shook every hand, learned every name, then made the necessary calls
Last civilized man — polished and precise and absent of the things that make precision worth a damn
He won
God he won
Every single room
He walked into
And left
Smaller
Than he found it
By exactly
One
His daughter calls. Eleven minutes average. He knows because he knows everything measurable and nothing that isn’t.
She sounds like her mother did at that age — he lets that land for exactly as long as the car ride allows then the hotel then the laptop then the continent resettles.
There was a man inside him once who felt things move like weather, enormous and ungoverned, in the chest
He last saw him on a plane in 2019 watching something he won’t name
Felt the whole tectonic shift
Landed
Opened the laptop
Let the plates
Go still
The ones who left called it something
The ones who stayed learned to call it something else
Language was always
The first thing
He standardized
Last civilized man in a room he cleared himself
Shook every hand, learned every name, then made the necessary calls
Last civilized man — polished and precise and absent of the things that make precision worth a damn
He won
God he won
Every single room
He walked into
And left
Smaller
Than he found it
By exactly
One
What the profiles never ask and what he’d never answer if they did:
What was it for
Not the company, not the legacy, not the name on the building — those are answers to a different question
What was the thing underneath the thing
The original hunger before the hunger got professionalized and branded and optimized for scale
He knows
He’s known since 2019 on the plane
He just also knows
That knowing and doing
Are two countries
With no current
Diplomatic
Relations
Seven o’clock.
Car’s waiting.
He straightens the tie without a mirror.
Doesn’t need one.
Knows exactly
What he looks like
Has always known
Exactly
What he looks like
That’s never been
The question
The Man Who Stayed Too Long▾
He checked into his own life at the usual hotel,
same hallway, same fluorescent buzz, the same recycled smell,
but somewhere past the tenth year or the fifteenth he forgot
to check back out. The lobby closed. He is still on his cot.
The walls have memorized the shape of how he tends to lean,
the mattress holds his silhouette in places no one has seen,
the ceiling has a water stain that looks like his left hand,
and the man who stayed too long no longer tries to understand.
same hallway, same fluorescent buzz, the same recycled smell,
but somewhere past the tenth year or the fifteenth he forgot
to check back out. The lobby closed. He is still on his cot.
The walls have memorized the shape of how he tends to lean,
the mattress holds his silhouette in places no one has seen,
the ceiling has a water stain that looks like his left hand,
and the man who stayed too long no longer tries to understand.
The man who stayed too long has worn a groove into the floor,
the man who stayed too long cannot remember what the door
was for, the handle cold and strange beneath his fingertips,
the world outside is someone else’s story on their lips.
He eats the same three meals in rotation, never deviates,
the fork goes left, the knife goes right, the napkin folds in eights,
the television talks to him in voices he half-knows,
he answers it sometimes at night when no one is there and no one goes
to check because the neighbors learned to let the channel run.
He is the longest-staying guest. He is the only one.
The wallpaper has started matching patterns on his skin,
the floral print repeating where the shoulders have grown thin.
The man who stayed too long has worn a groove into the floor,
the man who stayed too long cannot remember what the door
was for, the handle cold and strange beneath his fingertips,
the world outside is someone else’s story on their lips.
His license photo shows a younger, wider face,
the kind of man who moved through rooms and did not leave a trace.
Now every surface holds him, every corner knows his weight,
the room has become the man and the man has become the crate
that houses what is left of the trajectory he lost.
He pulls the curtain shut against the light at any cost,
because the light reveals the distance between then and here,
and the man who stayed too long has made a home inside his fear.
The Smiling Dealer▾
The Smiling Dealer
He grins with the edge of a scalpel,
clinical brightness washed in hospital light,
Selling quiet removal with Medicaid ink,
dispensing dusk in the broadest daylight.Every bottle clicks shut
with the confidence of ritual, the assurance of masked care,
His eyes blank as invoices, the comfort scripted,
the empathy rare.He inquires about pain in a softened voice,
translating misery into code,
Increases the dosage, doubles the hope,
then lets the suffering erode.No touch lingers past the clipboard,
every signature traded for trust,
Isolation bottled, compliance prescribed, the body dissolving to dust.
They call it healing, but there’s no sound left to scream—Just morphine dreams
and static routines,
Each patient’s name disappears beneath printer’s drone,
Profits rise as souls are overthrown.The phone never rings to ask
if despair has grown,
His memory skips every story he’s known.Pills replace answers, follow-up lost,
Suffering measured in tablets, recovery’s cost.
Every plea for help is streamlined to waste,
A system’s discard, hope laid to waste.Another casualty coded,
another life erased,
All records in order, every quota embraced.Take the medicine,
trust the lie—Swallow each promise,
prepare to die.Clinical white camouflages rot,
Symptoms erased while suffering is not.The patient recedes into digital debt,
A number, a barcode, a balance unmet.
This is not mercy, it’s sanitized rule,
Death is dispensed in clinical cool.His lab coat covers what justice won’t,
You signed the consent for the care you don’t.Erasure is managed,
the verdict routine,
Truth is filtered, the end kept clean.
The Smiling Dealer (Redux) never mourns the result,
His hands never shake as he hands out the cult.No sorrow for those
who fail to wake,
Only a pill, only a break.Each refill, each silence is profit renewed,
A system in white, a casket construed.The transaction is final,
the harm concealed—Approval signed for what never healed.
The Smiling Dealer—unshaken, adored—▾
The Smiling Dealer—unshaken, adored—
Writes in the margins, then cashes the ward.
Forgotten titles echo in corridors slick,
Each bottle a headstone, each click a trick.
Healing’s a handshake, comfort is cost—
Salvion, a script for those already lost.
He carves out the living with God in his eyes,
Prescription the weapon, each warning a lie.
He’s not the doctor remembered in prayer—
But the final confession for those in despair.
His signure gold, his laughter concealed,
He is the disease that will never be healed.
Writes in the margins, then cashes the ward.
Forgotten titles echo in corridors slick,
Each bottle a headstone, each click a trick.
Healing’s a handshake, comfort is cost—
Salvion, a script for those already lost.
He carves out the living with God in his eyes,
Prescription the weapon, each warning a lie.
He’s not the doctor remembered in prayer—
But the final confession for those in despair.
His signure gold, his laughter concealed,
He is the disease that will never be healed.
The wallpaper peeled like a memory trying to shed its skin▾
The wallpaper peeled like a memory trying to shed its skin
Dust held her perfume like a secret that wouldn’t die
And the light hit the mirror just wrong—just enough to reflect her goodbye
There were claw marks in the drywall where the laughter used to live
Notes she’d scribbled in sharpie on the pantry door: “Don’t forget to live”
I forgot anyway. Got too wrapped in silence and spite
She left her name in the walls, etched in cracks and breath and time
A love that didn’t scream when it broke, just quietly bled into the floor
I hear her in the pipes night, and I don’t know if I’m haunted or guilty
I threw out her clothes but kept the drawer she kept her rings in
Told myself I was moving on, but I couldn’t tear down the room she prayed in
Even ghosts need altars, and I’ve become hers
I sleep on the couch now, just in case she visits the bedroom
Pretend the creaks are just age, not regret in high heels
But I know the difference between grief and routine
One day I’ll sell this house to someone who thinks peeling paint is just old paint
But I’ll laugh, ‘cause I know better—she’s still here
And if they ever repaint the walls, I hope they bleed
Lick It Before It Bites
Dust held her perfume like a secret that wouldn’t die
And the light hit the mirror just wrong—just enough to reflect her goodbye
There were claw marks in the drywall where the laughter used to live
Notes she’d scribbled in sharpie on the pantry door: “Don’t forget to live”
I forgot anyway. Got too wrapped in silence and spite
She left her name in the walls, etched in cracks and breath and time
A love that didn’t scream when it broke, just quietly bled into the floor
I hear her in the pipes night, and I don’t know if I’m haunted or guilty
I threw out her clothes but kept the drawer she kept her rings in
Told myself I was moving on, but I couldn’t tear down the room she prayed in
Even ghosts need altars, and I’ve become hers
I sleep on the couch now, just in case she visits the bedroom
Pretend the creaks are just age, not regret in high heels
But I know the difference between grief and routine
One day I’ll sell this house to someone who thinks peeling paint is just old paint
But I’ll laugh, ‘cause I know better—she’s still here
And if they ever repaint the walls, I hope they bleed
Lick It Before It Bites
The walls are closing in, can you feel it now▾
The walls are closing in, can you feel it now?
A shadow’s creeping in, no escape somehow,
A haunting presence, lurking in the dark,
It whispers your name, leaving its mark.
The chill on your skin, a shiver in your soul,
The room’s getting smaller, losing control,
You’re bound by the chains of your darkest sin,
Now it begins, it’s pulling you in.
230
In the devil’s grip, you’re never free,
Trapped in the dark, no way to see,
The flames are rising, your skin starts to burn,
In the devil’s grip, you’ll never return.
144
A shadow’s creeping in, no escape somehow,
A haunting presence, lurking in the dark,
It whispers your name, leaving its mark.
The chill on your skin, a shiver in your soul,
The room’s getting smaller, losing control,
You’re bound by the chains of your darkest sin,
Now it begins, it’s pulling you in.
230
In the devil’s grip, you’re never free,
Trapped in the dark, no way to see,
The flames are rising, your skin starts to burn,
In the devil’s grip, you’ll never return.
144
The Walls Are Closing In▾
These four walls are tighter every day
I can’t breathe, I can’t find a way
Every inch of space is gone
I’m fucking drowning, holding on
I feel the pressure crushing my chest
The air is thick, can’t catch my breath
There’s nowhere to run, no room to hide
I’m trapped in this fucking prison inside
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
The ceiling’s falling, the floor’s too close
I can’t breathe, I can’t even hope
Every breath is a fucking lie
I’m losing my grip, I can’t even try
I feel the pressure crushing my chest
The air is thick, can’t catch my breath
There’s nowhere to run, no room to hide
I’m trapped in this fucking prison inside
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
No light, no space, no hope, no air
This prison is my fucking nightmare
It’s squeezing me until I break
I don’t know how much more I can take
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
The walls have won, I’m out of time
I’m lost inside this fucking crime.
I can’t breathe, I can’t find a way
Every inch of space is gone
I’m fucking drowning, holding on
I feel the pressure crushing my chest
The air is thick, can’t catch my breath
There’s nowhere to run, no room to hide
I’m trapped in this fucking prison inside
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
The ceiling’s falling, the floor’s too close
I can’t breathe, I can’t even hope
Every breath is a fucking lie
I’m losing my grip, I can’t even try
I feel the pressure crushing my chest
The air is thick, can’t catch my breath
There’s nowhere to run, no room to hide
I’m trapped in this fucking prison inside
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
No light, no space, no hope, no air
This prison is my fucking nightmare
It’s squeezing me until I break
I don’t know how much more I can take
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
The walls have won, I’m out of time
I’m lost inside this fucking crime.
The Walls Are Thin, the Headphones Thick▾
The Walls Are Thin, the Headphones Thick
There’s a weight in these nights, you know, pressing hard on the ribcage,
A house that never sleeps, only shudders, listening to the sound of its own heart failing—
Where every word from the next room is a fistful of gravel in the mouth,
Every sigh a curse on the other side of paper walls, peeling like old scars,
So you claw for those headphones, wrap the coil around your neck like a soft noose,
Press the cups tight, desperate for the unchanging to swallow the voices,
Turn it up—let the bass rattle bones, let the shriek of guitars flay what’s left of your nerves,
Since outside your skull, sorrow keeps its appointments, never late,
And the air fills with arguments thick as tar, with nightmares in their pajamas,
Someone’s mother moans like a ghost in the vent,
Someone’s father screams in riddles, syllables bouncing off linoleum and never coming clean,
You could almost believe the music is holy, a shield, a sedative, a breakwater against memory,
But nothing out-screams the past, nothing out-hums the monster’s lullaby.
The headphones hum a fake mercy, pounding out the dirges you choose,
Metal and pop and broken oldies melting together, blood in the ear and unchanging for company,
Still, the walls bleed every note, the floorboards gossip,
You close your eyes and see sirens painted across your eyelids,
Every lyric fighting to drown out your father’s voice, your mother’s silence,
And the way the house once felt like shelter but now grows teeth—
You can dance in place, try to shake the sound out,
But the walls keep listening, patient, collecting the lies you play on repeat.
You build fortresses out of decibels, let the headphones eat your screams,
Let the world’s disasters become background fuzz,
But it’s always there—the clatter, the insults, the long dry sobbing from the room across the hall,
You wish you could crank it to oblivion, turn your head inside out,
But the monsters know all the songs, they hum along in perfect time,
And when the batteries die, it’s just you and the dead house,
A mouth full of ghosts, a pillow stuffed with old confessions and lost keys,
You start to realize you’re not drowning the noise, you’re amplifying the loneliness,
Beats pounding, heart skipping, the music just another brand of quiet,
One that only lasts until the morning is loud again and you remember
There’s no sanctuary, only delay.
You wear those headphones like armor, like denial,
Hoping the world will implode before the chorus ends,
Hoping the neighbors are screaming into their own dead air,
And the voices you’re hiding from can’t find you in the cracks,
But the house always knows,
The headphones crackle and burn, and in the moment the music cuts—
All that’s left is breath, and the knowledge that silence is the loudest song.
Song: The Walls Are Thin, the Headphones Thick
Plugged in, eyes shut, volume like a flood,
Let the world fall away, let the blood pound thick,
Can’t hear the screams in the hallway, can’t taste the dirt in the rug,
All that matters is the rhythm, all that matters is the kick.
Dad’s shouting something ugly, mom’s crying in code,
I press the pads tighter, like I’m strangling my fear,
The soundtrack is safety, every drumbeat a road
Leading anywhere but here, anywhere but here.
Wires dig in, cut off every last plea,
Noise is a blanket, unchanging’s a home,
But when the power dies, I’m naked as can beat,
Trapped with the monsters that live in the foam.
Headphones on, let the silence drown,
Can’t fix a house that wants you underground,
Every song just a scream for a day that won’t break,
Turn it up, close my eyes, let the headphones take.
When the batteries die, I hear the truth breathe,
No chords thick enough, no chorus to seethe,
Alone with my heart and the dark closing in,
Headphones never last, but the nightmares begin.
Headphones on, let the silence drown,
Can’t fix a house that wants you underground,
Every song just a scream for a day that won’t break,
Turn it up, close my eyes, let the headphones take.
—
There’s a weight in these nights, you know, pressing hard on the ribcage,
A house that never sleeps, only shudders, listening to the sound of its own heart failing—
Where every word from the next room is a fistful of gravel in the mouth,
Every sigh a curse on the other side of paper walls, peeling like old scars,
So you claw for those headphones, wrap the coil around your neck like a soft noose,
Press the cups tight, desperate for the unchanging to swallow the voices,
Turn it up—let the bass rattle bones, let the shriek of guitars flay what’s left of your nerves,
Since outside your skull, sorrow keeps its appointments, never late,
And the air fills with arguments thick as tar, with nightmares in their pajamas,
Someone’s mother moans like a ghost in the vent,
Someone’s father screams in riddles, syllables bouncing off linoleum and never coming clean,
You could almost believe the music is holy, a shield, a sedative, a breakwater against memory,
But nothing out-screams the past, nothing out-hums the monster’s lullaby.
The headphones hum a fake mercy, pounding out the dirges you choose,
Metal and pop and broken oldies melting together, blood in the ear and unchanging for company,
Still, the walls bleed every note, the floorboards gossip,
You close your eyes and see sirens painted across your eyelids,
Every lyric fighting to drown out your father’s voice, your mother’s silence,
And the way the house once felt like shelter but now grows teeth—
You can dance in place, try to shake the sound out,
But the walls keep listening, patient, collecting the lies you play on repeat.
You build fortresses out of decibels, let the headphones eat your screams,
Let the world’s disasters become background fuzz,
But it’s always there—the clatter, the insults, the long dry sobbing from the room across the hall,
You wish you could crank it to oblivion, turn your head inside out,
But the monsters know all the songs, they hum along in perfect time,
And when the batteries die, it’s just you and the dead house,
A mouth full of ghosts, a pillow stuffed with old confessions and lost keys,
You start to realize you’re not drowning the noise, you’re amplifying the loneliness,
Beats pounding, heart skipping, the music just another brand of quiet,
One that only lasts until the morning is loud again and you remember
There’s no sanctuary, only delay.
You wear those headphones like armor, like denial,
Hoping the world will implode before the chorus ends,
Hoping the neighbors are screaming into their own dead air,
And the voices you’re hiding from can’t find you in the cracks,
But the house always knows,
The headphones crackle and burn, and in the moment the music cuts—
All that’s left is breath, and the knowledge that silence is the loudest song.
Song: The Walls Are Thin, the Headphones Thick
Plugged in, eyes shut, volume like a flood,
Let the world fall away, let the blood pound thick,
Can’t hear the screams in the hallway, can’t taste the dirt in the rug,
All that matters is the rhythm, all that matters is the kick.
Dad’s shouting something ugly, mom’s crying in code,
I press the pads tighter, like I’m strangling my fear,
The soundtrack is safety, every drumbeat a road
Leading anywhere but here, anywhere but here.
Wires dig in, cut off every last plea,
Noise is a blanket, unchanging’s a home,
But when the power dies, I’m naked as can beat,
Trapped with the monsters that live in the foam.
Headphones on, let the silence drown,
Can’t fix a house that wants you underground,
Every song just a scream for a day that won’t break,
Turn it up, close my eyes, let the headphones take.
When the batteries die, I hear the truth breathe,
No chords thick enough, no chorus to seethe,
Alone with my heart and the dark closing in,
Headphones never last, but the nightmares begin.
Headphones on, let the silence drown,
Can’t fix a house that wants you underground,
Every song just a scream for a day that won’t break,
Turn it up, close my eyes, let the headphones take.
—
The walls breathe in, the air grows thin,▾
The walls breathe in, the air grows thin,
A carousel of loss and sin.
No stars above to light the track,
Just hollow whispers pulling back.
A carousel of loss and sin.
No stars above to light the track,
Just hollow whispers pulling back.
The walls close in, there's nowhere to hide▾
The walls close in, there’s nowhere to hide
The voices in my head won’t be denied
I’m tethered to this cursed place
With every shadow that shows its face
Footsteps echo, I’m pulled within
The screams are sharp, the madness begins
I try to scream, but no sound comes
Struggling against what I’ve become
108
Crimson moon, burn it down
Lost inside this wicked town
The night’s alive, but I can’t see
Wh’s staring back, it’s haunting me
Crimson moon, lead me blind
With every step, I lose my mind
Into the dark where monsters roam
Will I ever make it back home?
103
The voices in my head won’t be denied
I’m tethered to this cursed place
With every shadow that shows its face
Footsteps echo, I’m pulled within
The screams are sharp, the madness begins
I try to scream, but no sound comes
Struggling against what I’ve become
108
Crimson moon, burn it down
Lost inside this wicked town
The night’s alive, but I can’t see
Wh’s staring back, it’s haunting me
Crimson moon, lead me blind
With every step, I lose my mind
Into the dark where monsters roam
Will I ever make it back home?
103
Underworld Hustle▾
Underworld Hustle
In the underworld hustle, where the deals go down dark, We navige the alleyways, with a hunger and a spark.
The streets are our domain, where the shadows come alive, where the damned survive.
The cash is flowing dirty, the power is in our hands, where the law’s a mere stand.
We fight for every inch, in the city’s cruel play, The contest’s a deadly gamble, where the stakes are high and steep, where the silence is deep.
We rise in the shadows, where the deals are made in pain, where the chaos reigns.
Underworld hustle, where the darkness is supreme, In the city’s cruel heart, where the shadows scheme.
In the alleys and the corners, where the power’s in the fight, Underworld hustle thrives, in the grip of the night.
In the underworld hustle, where the deals go down dark, We navige the alleyways, with a hunger and a spark.
The streets are our domain, where the shadows come alive, where the damned survive.
The cash is flowing dirty, the power is in our hands, where the law’s a mere stand.
We fight for every inch, in the city’s cruel play, The contest’s a deadly gamble, where the stakes are high and steep, where the silence is deep.
We rise in the shadows, where the deals are made in pain, where the chaos reigns.
Underworld hustle, where the darkness is supreme, In the city’s cruel heart, where the shadows scheme.
In the alleys and the corners, where the power’s in the fight, Underworld hustle thrives, in the grip of the night.
Walls Closing In▾
But it’s fucking killing me
There’s no way out, no way back
I’m forever trapped in the black
The darkness swallows everything whole
And now it’s come to claim my soul.
These four walls are tighter every day
I can’t breathe, I can’t find a way
Every inch of space is gone
I’m fucking drowning, holding on
I feel the pressure crushing my chest
The air is thick, can’t catch my breath
There’s nowhere to run, no room to hide
I’m trapped in this fucking prison inside
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
The ceiling’s falling, the floor’s too close
I can’t breathe, I can’t even hope
Every breath is a fucking lie
I’m losing my grip, I can’t even try
I feel the pressure crushing my chest
The air is thick, can’t catch my breath
There’s nowhere to run, no room to hide
I’m trapped in this fucking prison inside
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
No light, no space, no hope, no air
This prison is my fucking nightmare
It’s squeezing me until I break
I don’t know how much more I can take
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
The walls have won, I’m out of time
There’s no way out, no way back
I’m forever trapped in the black
The darkness swallows everything whole
And now it’s come to claim my soul.
These four walls are tighter every day
I can’t breathe, I can’t find a way
Every inch of space is gone
I’m fucking drowning, holding on
I feel the pressure crushing my chest
The air is thick, can’t catch my breath
There’s nowhere to run, no room to hide
I’m trapped in this fucking prison inside
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
The ceiling’s falling, the floor’s too close
I can’t breathe, I can’t even hope
Every breath is a fucking lie
I’m losing my grip, I can’t even try
I feel the pressure crushing my chest
The air is thick, can’t catch my breath
There’s nowhere to run, no room to hide
I’m trapped in this fucking prison inside
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
No light, no space, no hope, no air
This prison is my fucking nightmare
It’s squeezing me until I break
I don’t know how much more I can take
The walls are closing in, I can’t escape
Every heartbeat feels like a mistake
I’m suffocating, no way out
Trapped in a cage of fear and doubt
The walls are closing in, they won’t let go
I’m losing control, can’t take it slow
I’m buried alive inside my mind
There’s no freedom I can find
The walls have won, I’m out of time
When we finally stand, brushing leaves from your skin,▾
When we finally stand, brushing leaves from your skin,
You look up at me, mouth swollen, eyes dark with the sin,
We step from the grove, not a word, both grinning wild,
Still tasting the night, still filthy, still half-feral and riled.
You look up at me, mouth swollen, eyes dark with the sin,
We step from the grove, not a word, both grinning wild,
Still tasting the night, still filthy, still half-feral and riled.
White Lines & Closed Eyes▾
“White Lines & Closed Eyes”
Sixty-eight cuts deeper than a power chord—this one’s carved from real pain, not pretty rhymes No lesson No clean ending Just the truth in 4/4 time
We keep climbing. 500 ain’t gonna write itself. \m/
Song #69 —and it had to be filthy. This one ain’t poetry. It’s porn with a guitar solo. This is sweat on leher, lipstick on shaft, and a chorus that grinds like a stripper with a vendetta. It’s sleaze with teeth. It’s a 69 with eye contact, claws, and zero regrets.
Sixty-eight cuts deeper than a power chord—this one’s carved from real pain, not pretty rhymes No lesson No clean ending Just the truth in 4/4 time
We keep climbing. 500 ain’t gonna write itself. \m/
Song #69 —and it had to be filthy. This one ain’t poetry. It’s porn with a guitar solo. This is sweat on leher, lipstick on shaft, and a chorus that grinds like a stripper with a vendetta. It’s sleaze with teeth. It’s a 69 with eye contact, claws, and zero regrets.