I was etched like a trace in a dream’s tale untold,
No echo stirred within silence’s hold.

My solitude whispered secrets I’d never known,
Not the mirror — madness had truths of its own.

I carved every moment upon my skin,
Yet time kept bleeding from deep within.

I’m a spectacle, yes, but each hue feels dry —
What bloom can deserts in blossom imply?

When I write a name, my tongue turns frost,
Words try to soothe, but something’s lost.

Even wounds stay mute, though the cry is wet,
What did we gain when our fall was set?

If the quill should tear, it becomes the script,
Each gesture hides a sentence, crypt.

Morning arrives like a shadow slipping past —
Seems I’m the one who’s hidden at last.

Holes throughout the body—
a syndrome of the past.
Light as a feather,
I float through the lapse.

All the actresses and actors
that push me to perform, get paid—
while the silence of a clever one
avoids this house of blame.

I’m alone when I call you.
I don’t want more shame.
I’m driftwood washing on the shores
of a land called Never-Clean.

Can you help me become new again—
sand me down and stain the pain?
I’m a hollowed human of useless, unkept, selfish rage.

“It’s not that deep—not the deep end,”
said one shallow mate.
They never knew I’d touched the soil
that’s damp and cold— infinite.

“She’s so dramatic.”
emotions—lymphatic—
They drain and drain again.

I’ll be the one, light as driftwood,
from wounds where nails drove in.
Is there any cure for the rot
within this flesh, beneath this skin?

Refurbish me.
Let me live again.
Make me the centerpiece
from that angry river’s end.
Showcase the beauty
of this damage eating in.
She pleads—
“Take me, make me yours,”
as the storm begins to end.

⸻

“This here is an heirloom,”
weathered, rough, reclaimed.
“A simple reminder of the power of potential.

Grandpa found it along the river,
after the great storm—
that same summer he met Grandma
as she ran away.

This is no ordinary driftwood.
The holes carry a whistle
that sings our family’s name.”

W-ounded she was scarred ,she still feels the pain
O-h the pain she couldnt bear one that drove her insane
U-nderestimating the damage,Now she weeps for her bane
N-ever had she imagined ,the sorrows that would stain
D-istorting images that would strain
S-ucked her brain made her sane
T-he sounds torment,twisting her veins
H-arsh realities those which never wane
A-nd even still ,she cries in vain
T-he past still whispers like a weeping swain
N-ever object ,never complain
E-teched and carved but she couldnt explain
V-ulnerable wound ;forever remains
E-nraged her soul which drenched in  rains
R-avens flew;she stared them through ;the window's pane
H-earing the echoes,forgotten arcanes
E-agerness betrayed her she was never fain
A-che still lingers so she drugged herself *******
L-unacy drove her mad and now she was dead and lain
A-nger burnt her alive but she still couldnt complain
M--adness made her demonic and now she wears her chains
I'-ntricated with restrictions she holds herself abstain
S-eculuded in her solace a fear she still contains
E-mpathy she had lost, one she never had to gain
R-efrained the sentiments inside just so she would retain
Y-et she still sobs; behind that old chayne
T-he anguish she lives with while being still and plain
H-ear this message dear i beseech and constrain
A-gony strips and rips her but the clearity she maintains
T-he porcelien smile ;one for which she trains
N-ot letting it show; the misery she obtains
E-legance she tries to mask; beyond her domains
V-engeance bleeds inside ;mascarred and slain
E-rupts from her bones until it sprains
R-an and ran forever; and now she holds her cane
E-nd her pain forever let her rest and lain
N-ested in some peace a peace that she disdains
D-ie and demise she sings with the cranes
S-epulchural wounds and agonies For always would be her deign
                   _tsuki no ume~

The train
Sashayed and swayed,
Hugging the corners
As it rounded the tracks
That led us back
To the city —
These tracks
Are everywhere,
Across Australia,
And around the world —
These tracks
Mirror the tracks on my face;
                 scars left from stitches
Weaving my wounds together —
The 100+ knitting my skin together after the surgeons scooped out the brain AVM,
Across the bridge of my nose
Originating from a foul swipe
Of a tennis swing.
The crows’ feet from
Forever smiling eyes
Even when they were crying.
These tracks are traces
Of a life lived;
Westerners pay the “big bucks” to hide them,
Mine…
Are forever present and I don't deny them,