burn ledgers,
sink crowns,
Lies kneel,
cities drown.

no gods,
no wires,
just fists
and fires.

Ain't a cry
It's a **** the man
Statement

I'm always racing, chasing—then swaying and spacing,
Barely bracing, then I’m slipping, dipping, misplacing.

The world keeps pressing, the pressure's unceasing,
Voices all blending, no pause, no releasing.

But when night pulls the curtain and time starts *******,
I pour something smooth—let go of the stressing.

In the hush of the dark, where the touch feels true
That’s when my heart, it skips for you.

You were a kiss in a blender,
A chandelier of weeping strings.
I drank your name through static,
Swallowed lullaby shards
Wrapped in candy grief.

We made love beneath wormlight
You wore thunder like silk.
I gave you stars;
You brought a fork to my funeral
And laughed as I bled jam.

I begged through balloon fangs,
My ribs tuned to backward echoes.
But you rode a fishbone bicycle
Into another soft apocalypse.

Your love bit only in shivers.
You adored me as glitter and salt
But fled when my tears grew limbs
And asked for names.

You left with ducks in lab coats,
Prescribing your smile in pills.
I sleep in your ghost’s teacup,
Paint storms on toast,
And scream into jellyfish.

I kissed your silence’s socket,
Wore your absence like velvet plague.
Mannequins fed me your Sanskrit lies
On glitter IVs.

I built microwave shrines
To your maybe.
My therapist asked who you were
I said: expired milk with blood on the back.

Your ghost plays hopscotch in my skull.
Mirrors wear your grin like gospel.
I search aquariums for your stare
Only castles remain, and even they refuse me.

Tell me—was I your scrapbook of ruin,
Your empathy vacation,
Your control carnival?

The spiral laughs.
It spins in your perfume.
And I clap
For my own collapse.

Thou walkedst in with words so honey-dipped,
Yet venom laced thy smile, so wide, so white.
A silken voice, but every virtue slipped,
For thou wert most in love with thy own light.

Thy praise, at first, did shine like summer gold,
Then turned to scorn when I began to bleed.
What grand illusions in thy lies I sold,
A peasant’s soul made feast for royal greed.

Thou craved a mirror, not a beating heart,
A shrine to self, not love in sacred skin.
I played the ghost in thy self-fashioned art,
While thou adored the mask thou wore within.

Yet truth, like dawn, did tear thy veil in twain
I found myself where I was bound by chain.

The willow drank my name from silver rain,
yet left my thirst to bloom in salted mist;
Love hummed through wormholes stitched with shadowed pain,
and kissed me once, then marked me as a list.

I chased her echo through a coral field,
where seabirds wrote in cursive on the wind;
My ribs unzipped, a galaxy revealed
a void where all my wanting had been pinned.

She danced like Saturn's ring across my sleep,
then vanished in the hush of Neptune's yawn;
I held her in the roots of stars too deep
to bloom before the hour love is gone.

So still I orbit songs I never knew
and dream of being real inside her blue.

The mosaicing smiles of colour
each a fracture dressed in light,
a kaleidoscope lie,
grinning with the ache of having once been whole.

Each piece of broken glass
a different view,
a different time,
a different feeling
splintered in the sun, bleeding memory in hues.

Red rages like a throat mid-scream,
blue sobs with the patience of oceans,
green lies like envy draped in silk,
gold forgives but never forgets.
Each colour,
a passion,
a pulse,
a past dressed as presence.

They say:
“Stand back. Admire it. See the masterpiece.”
But I know better.
I know what slices under the shine.

No matter how intriguing,
how intricate,
how heartbreakingly beautiful it seems

It's still just broken glass.
Edges smoothed by delusion.
Truth glued with trembling hands.
Not a miracle.
Not healing.
Not whole.

And no matter how it looks
it's still just broken glass.
And
It's sometimes better to just sweep it up
Else
Cut your fingers putting it together

Because of you, the springtime scents oppress,
I ache in gardens bloomed with floral breath.
Your face is lost in veils of nothingness,
Your lips forgotten in cold death’s caress.

Thinking of you, I love the statues white,
That drowse in parks, in silence held and blind.
I’ve lost your voice, your laughter, and your light,
Your eyes erased like footprints swept by wind.

Like flowers bound unto their perfumed shade,
I cling to vague remembrance, frail and torn.
This pain’s a wound too deep to be allayed
Your touch would leave me more than bruised and worn.

Though I’ve forgotten love, I see you still
In falling stars, through windows dim and still.