Once
apon a
time you
were taller than
me, I use to look up
to you . Hows that going
for you ? Once  apon  times I
would  brush  air over  my head just
so the movement would distract you from
how  far I cut in too short . Apon times it would
bother me that the difference was noticeable,  that you
would see my lack of intimate as provable. Times have changed,
little  did you   know by  the end of  your era you would still be here Standing the same.  Little did you know you would be the real one to blame. Little did I know your  height  was  what  had  me  slouching, your leg to my ribs, pressed upon my shoulders and gripes, shouting.
Little   did I know I wasn’t really going insane, l cant believe your rip of    me was all really for a ticket  to fame. Time I found out why your height never spurt, Why it blew out, why your back and knees always hurt. Just the  fact of now  knowing why there were  weird holes your shirt...     how your goal was to make my pain part  of your game and observe...     You had me light  headed, dizzy and wishing my mother never gave birth. Intervals have changed, just like how you grew into your shoes             and out of my height, One clock              later I grew out of                        shattered glass and my                             completely torn                             tights. I thank the tik                             that the rhythm of                                 the tok never                                         fully aligned,               that the moment was never really right, that I could always wear heals and feel just fine. At this point there is nothing l cant
survive. I enjoy the breeze down here. Without your
throats thunder over my head.
Without me on my knees praying my life
wouldn’t keep feeling as if it was time I made it the end.
So sitting on your     ice hill  , freezing  stood   forward,  the best
thing i ever did for      my self was push you      out of the powerd
battery portal. I         thought there would be        a bright day after
  the storm. But i           drowned in your                  hail tornado
mind swarm.

Humanity ?!...
Humanity what ?!...
I see no humanity.
I only see hypocrisy.


March 2025

By Alvian Eleven

The current died,
****** I’m afraid. It left her lying
wide awake. Maybe in another universe
she was treated right, The moon’s pull couldn’t
have drowned her, right? Would it be too much to
wave the question? To ask why her eyes turned Sahara
and dried up without the suns message? Golden hour wouldn’t matter if all that she thought about was the moons patterns. How
he brought rein,rain
and fkd up her ways
   to follow stars that le-
   ead to what really m-
   atters today . So with
  her   collapsed  coffin
   coral and fried tides ,
    she  decided it was t-
   ime for her like once
before comeback to life.
   Not a word not a sou-
      nd but a crash and s-
         plash,  at  last  she
           lives reflecting t-
               he moons attack,
                     as her water
                     pounds.

Red, the colour that
drew me in. What sits in my
skin and flows through yours and his.
My favorite dark shade of rage or cranberry
poison i sip in. My colour makes way for my craft,
  so know , my chest stopped beating when you palleted  
me like that. You held a brush to my detail                       and
    swam to make contrast , blue in my veins,                          blue
      on you. Ice that hit the reflection of my                        sky,
sky to sea, sea to skin , skin to you. for a last… Your
eyes , im am now blue. From never been read,
red, said. To feeling being.violet again.

It stung to my
core, a bite so deep
it pierced my skin. You opened
me up for dessert and left me out to
  dry, to sit, in
the sun,
to turn.
Seedless,
discolored,
lifeless,
Sunburnt.
Don’t
cover me
in
cinnamon
because you want more bites,
the only thing I have left is my
stem and my sour
taste of light.

You
can read a
book again, but the ending
stays
the same.The
tale tells if you walk past
the same tree twice, you’re lost…
If you
read a book again, the
ending won’t change, but there’s
always that thought that u picked a book
that was
never your fate, that
u never finished. That illustration of an incomplete face…