I hear short tales, where you are nothing good and far from impressive and all imposing.

I try and see you diplomatically. But unfortunately, I feel you.

I feel your ache. The bruise ever-pressed. The expectations failed. The stale shock of chilled wine dripping into the dip of your shirt. The want for bleeding passion and settle for dry stability.

I stare. I can't help it. I want to know everything, but there is very little I can ask in the cage I am unsure how to free us from.

Your mouth raises on the opposite of mine dominantly. You scan like you're waiting for a threat that won't manifest but you'll cruelly deny looking for if it's acknowledged. Your hands are calloused from weight lifting and you hold a pencil funny, and with every trait, you become dominating in my mind.

I won't rewrite my story to fit you, nor will I try and force you to want my narrative. But you don't move away when I press against you, and you look a beat too long when you don't think I can see, and I think maybe you'd be happy to read the words your name constitutes.

You are not penciled into my life, you are the only thing that's written in ink.

There. I take it back,

everything I didnt say.

Finally, I step tentatively into the light, that first step, so fearful, but driven by unstoppable forces,

churning so close to the surface I fear they may spill out.

If only to taste your breath again.

I have found that I am more afraid that goodbye will be too permanent, than I am of having to scrape to your whims,

In the hopes that I might swim through the depths of your sagacious delusion,

Depsite my better judgment, I wish to drown myself in sentimental repetition.

The battle for my sole,

survivor i am,

not going down without a fight,

between me and yours truly,

I have the edge,

Of a cliff I dangle holding on to the roots,

of my childhood is where it all started,

And ended as I freefell into the depths of my mind,

To be continued,

When I get back on my feet again,

And again and again.,

trauma knows your name

it calls to you in dark corners

seduces you in familiarity

its screams seems to be

your solemn duty

to quiten

though that baby is not yours

its demands are never satisfied

though your knees touch the ground

it beckons you to prostrate

then hastily descend into newly found depths

it sells itself as home

yet its hungrier than a black hole

everyday it rises to meet you

it materializes in dreams

lucky, you know who he is

It's funny til it's happening to you.

Figured we'd be all dead before

Humans catch a clue.

I bleed the same as you, but the hatred

That my suffering has bred may have

Drowned out the last shred of

Humanity i had within me.

The rest lay within the confines of the

Bible, which conveniently sits right next to

A rifle with bullet casings that has names

Etched into the shell.

When we are all slaves to an economy

Ran by the idolatry of men who feed you lies,

Take and hide your plate to slide you

Crumbs just so you feel like they

Are the reason you ate.

Surrounded by automatic machines

And android assistants.

When the job market consists of

Performing maintenance on your replacement.

Because as technology grows,

The humans become more unwise

As the day goes.

We cannot get along.

I used to think that we were smart enough to see

Through the bullshit that is spread through

The media, the religion, and the politricks..

Sadly, I'm afraid, we've lost the war

And we are all at our weakest at our core.

Get me off of this planet.

Never worship any man who isn't the Savior.

And yet here we are with posters and

Lasers to pinpoint something to virtue

Signal about.

Because let's be honest, everything you

Content creators do is for clout.

I'm exhausted with everyone and everything.

Because even as grown beings

You haven't figured out that we can have

Different opinions, but not be hateful.

If a blue crayon hated a red one, just

Because of a different hue.

Then, school supplies for your kids would

Be that much expensive.

For it's the dumbest thing to buy two boxes

Of crayons, just because one color

Doesn't like the way the other one looks,

So it's impossible for them to be

Packaged inside the same box,

Even though they serve the same purpose.

If you are too blinded to see this all

Asinine, then perhaps we should be begging

For God to burn this bitch down.

one hand doesn’t know

and neither does the other one

sounds like government

09.11.2025

11

i miss you more than the stars and the moon

i remember it all in the inbetweens

moments between things, during

i miss the times we had under spring trees

i woke up with the memories of thursdays

in my head - foggy dreams - remembering

waking up in your bed, savoring every moment

while it lasted

i knew it would end, i just didnt think like this

i thought about you here, away from home

i thought about the times you made me cry

and i miss even that. maybe im just a masochist

i just miss you being you, ever irritating,

ever comforting. the love despite the hardship

you made everything feel so easy

until i broke, fell into a million pieces, and im picking them all back up,

im trying to

i just miss it

i miss you

the only future i ever had had you in it, you know?

you never believed me, but i know

it still feels like its real, like its just a love letter away

in the stories it is,

in the stories its easy because its true

but the only thing thats true

is whether or not we believe it

psychologists say there are five fears

from which all other fears stem

like digits, as manufactured,

the handful presumably

Natural, like

...extinction,

...mutilation,

...loss of autonomy,

...separation, and ego death...

to quote from Psychology Today

in this list, the median we see

of aggregate sum, or mean

centers on loss or losing...

which is to say

the irrevocable closing,

of the slatted gate...

09.11.2025

Gatekeeping challenge @Last

Hands and hearts reaching into the depths of the unknown.

A story maybe retold with two characters seeking early afternoon,all alone.

They're hands touch,a brush with fate in a poorly lit aisle.

A familiar title with a foreign cast standing above and laying below the scattered pile.

Eyes meet,locked, and reloaded for a story that tugs and won't let go.

One copy displayed framed by two hands that form a broken frame.

The need for new found drama,writes a story of shame.

Two souls that were seeking for mystery found what they didn't bargain for.

A hunger was fulfilled in an awkward place that multiple as they walked out the door.

The sunken treasure left amongst nuggets in a colorful crate.

A moment of selfishness that transpired into unknowing fate.

The present rewinds in a poorly lit aisle the strangers treasure revealed,the two matinee leading actors gasp.

Theyre bodies fall in perfect time as the story unfolds,a silent picture with two onlookers with a bonding future predestined to last.