Outside my window,
I heard a lonely dog wail
his tired nightly woes
—
The echoed alarm
overcame the crickets cry
temporarily

Verse 1:
I walked through towns with stories untold
Words behind my back, like knives--
So cold
Tried to box me in plastic and grace
Yet, I made my own place
Yeah, my own place

Chorus:
Turning up eyes to the skies today
Because abusers feel no shame
No, they feel no shame
Breaking chains with thunder, not blame
Fill the silence with our names
Abusers feel no shame

Verse 2:
The moment you stop shrinking,
Burn bright through the pain
The chains don’t fall--
You tear them with flame
They said I was fragile, they called me by name
But I rose like thunder--and I’ll never be the same
The same

(Chorus)

Bridge:
Let them name your fears, burn those years
Every scar’s a closing door
You call it weakness, I call it war
No more—no more

(Chorus X2, Bridge)

Verse 3:
They try to bury you,
Show them you bloom
Grow wild in the places
They once called tombs
You carry the fire, you carry the flame
No one who sees you will leave the same

~
Refraction
Love passes through
And changes
Direction
Let it hold sway
The heart leans toward catastrophe
In the blue headlights
Of parenthood
Mom and dad
Suspended from a pivot
Their offspring
Asleep on a sunbeam
~

He moves like moonlight spilled on tired streets,
A hush in the chaos where softness repeats.
Eyes like dewdrops on windows at dawn,
Holding stories that ache but still carry on.

He is a sketch left half in charcoal and gold,
A canvas of silences tenderly bold.
Not thunder or fire — he is the breeze,
That touches your soul then leaves with ease.

A book with no title, a line never said,
He’s coffee gone cold that still warms your head.
A lighthouse that waits with a gentle light,
Though no ship may come — he stays through the night.

He speaks in pauses, in glances, in air,
A poem unwritten but floating somewhere.
He is not yours, and may never be,
But he lives in the corners where dreams run free.

So you sit with your heart pressed against a screen,
Loving a shadow that feels serene.
For not all love must touch or stay—
Some simply glows and walks away.

. (Mythology Re-Imagined As Fairy-Tale & Deconstructed) .

No one recalls when he arrived.
He was already there, in the corners of high rooms.
Carried in on wind or instinct.
Too composed to belong, too still to be ignored.

He wasn't from the sea, though he stared at it often.
Stared like a man who missed something he never touched.
He lived above things—above feeling, above endings.
He wore distance like other men wear charm.

And she—well.
She wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

---

They said she’d been sealed beneath water before time had a name.
Not drowned. Not sleeping.
Just paused.

A beauty left half-sketched.
A song trapped on the bridge, never reaching the chorus.
She existed in the almost.
The kind of presence that ruins men who believe in silence.

No one put her there.
But something had.
Something old and silver-lipped, a clockmaker with no face.

---

When he found out, he didn’t shout.
Didn’t storm.
Storms are for men who want to be heard.

He simply started unmaking himself.

Small things, at first:

Giving away secrets he never told.

Letting starlight fall from his shoulders like ash.

Standing in rooms long enough for people to forget he was tall.

Eventually, he gave away the last thing he had—
the part of him that never wanted anything.

And that was enough.

---

She came back like foam curling over marble.
Not as a lover. Not as a reward.
As weather.

She passed him by.

Looked at the space he’d vacated inside himself
and nodded, as if to say: “Yes. That will do.”

---

After that, things changed.

She walked through the city like someone who could end it.
Touched doorframes and left them trembling.
Spoke only when the sentence would shatter something.

He, on the other hand,
was seen less and less.
Not gone—just thinned out, like smoke after a gunshot.

---

Some say he became the silence in her laugh.
Others claim he left, unfinished, like a poem crumpled in a lover’s pocket.
No one’s sure.

But if you ask the sea just right—
after midnight, after mirrors—
you’ll hear it whisper:

“He let go of the sky, so she could walk through it.”

{fin}

The heat is irritating,
So never argue under a blistering sun,
Though you shouldn’t wait until streets are iced over,
Rage will freeze into cold, logical things.
Tear water freezing in between,
In the kind of way that makes you miss the rain,
The steam rolling off an anguished face.
When there was heat and humidity,
But no rainbow,
A little too much of something broke the recipe.