Behind a person's success is a sacrifice;
Would you love to know the tale behind?

Actors and actresses preparing their act,
But behind the curtains there's a hidden fact.
Heels and shoes are filled with shards of glass;
Behind dress and tuxedo's there's a hidden blast
— Withal on the lights, they genuinely smile.

Let's move on and see the richest person alive:
They lurk abaft the gallanting suits and tie;
No day their feet cannot step on bars of silvers and gold,
Constantly crediting the humanity's sliver of hope
— Supported by government for the economy's growth.

Do you know someone born to be Einstein's child?
—A person whose thought process is unbelievably wide,
“What are emotions?” They frequently asked;
“Are those things related to a logical fact?”
Feelings are hindrance towards a brighter side.

We all know the people whom we proclaimed as leaders—
Behind the tall, wide walls they silently titters:
“Citizens are corrupted with money and blind rights;
This nation will never survive in a war nor in childish fights.”
Some politicians bought their roles, drinking leisure on their seats.

And there's someone like me— a bit higher, on the top—
Words are magical, making an astonishing plot;
Thy pen bleeds thread, weaving a wondrous craft—
Who knows they withhold theirs and other people's life art,
They'll keep going as long as the threadmill continues to spin.

Their tales are narrated a bit later, a bit little;
But that was a telltale with lots of missing details,
Are you willing to share the secrets found in the middle?

I learnt that
When you lie
You show obvious telltales

I then started to notice
That you did too
I noticed that you shuffled in your seat
When you told me
that you weren't scared that one time
we sat down to watch that horror film

I noticed that you bit your lip
When I asked you
if you were okay that night you stumbled in
at 1 o'clock in the morning

I noticed that you fiddled with your fingers
When you saw that couple walking down the street
and I asked if you knew them, you shook your head
I later found out she was your ex

And I noticed that you looked down to the floor
And the corners of your mouth twitched down
When I told you I love you
And you replied with 'I love you too'

Part I

My body never prepared to run out of air
celebrate it?
I said Send.
I said it again and again. Send.
the world's loneliest flipping machine
withering from your obtusity.
I'm sclerotic.
Yes, yes that's it.

I want to stir you
strike you into soup.
I'll observe the dictionary,
every word will flow from me to you.
Flip, flip off the diver's board,
Blank and Blank by the shore
Color it in, out, up, down
I'm sclerotic.

Remember this, need this
counting people all in pairs:
I saw everything through sixteen vision,
bleary, misted with vanilla yous.
Soft skinned, little girls, hot and milds between their teeth

I don't hunt but I could.
Autumnal again and I'm just repetition
speaking of repressed rage.
Let us analyze the handwriting of every
colleague, drop out, ghost buster,
Coffee house inspired.
I'm sclerotic.

I'm walking through the forest and
you're not there.

Part II

I write because I'll die
I die, I die, I diee.
It's been too long since I went swinging
Missing my pour of moon to the tip top
of my new ceramic mugs.

It's all up for traps
the reindeer, the telltales, the chlorine.
Hyperextended among the cruel cats, where are the cool cats?

REVERSE back to nail polish
I got manicures as a little girl
Staring at my hair now
every shaved bit on my leg is its own waterfall. Hah.

I cry for my beauty
I was told I was wrong with
highlighters, colored ads,
illuminated in the eyes of old dogs.

Take a gulp,
I did and I walked
for every moment I regretted.
I walked.
Childish foolish acts, crimeful commitments.
I said Send. Send.
She said you might not like me but to never fret
you love me.

I'm walking in a tunnel
(Where's the light?)
and you're not there.

Part III**

This is the beginning
of a low-budget film, black and white
this part is when the audience yells
"Someone fall in love already!"

I think there is something truly remarkable about me
(and you)
and the boy who cried wolf and
probably other people
too

I don't want my words to dissipate or fall
into space
disappear in the inners of the web.
I want them to creep in through the crevices
speak to the many as they
walk and see and notice.
I find a strange comfort in swinging at night in
an empty park
and a intriguing mystery the first time someone sighs my name.

I'm swinging in the park and
you're not there.

Forest phantom imagery
haunting stereophonic instrumentals
from Murals
whispering     on in nights    fine tent
wrapt up in my sleeping bag and only hearing dynamite as clouds
pass into the afterlife and
the moon has blossomed
the ocean!
Whole Blue Cliff Record lit in here on a bright canvas,
trees can see me saving paper,
Asian telltales, poetics,
and Buddhist Zen philosophy
swirls in my Mystic/Sombrio harp-brain
vivid by lucid shrillness
(achey wakey!!)
Turn the pillow
snap a mental image of that modern monk,
imaginary in his waterfront Salvation Army and his
Glass Temple and his
blasted literature.
His tearful dreams, logical processes... so that it's okay (zzz) always (zzzzz) what's that up there, Shiva?
I am atom, you are ATOMIC
There's a difference here I promise (ASTRONOMICAL)

The waves demand their presence to be known by periodic lion-like clamor, my lips are dry from fireside cider and absolute darkness fills up this space like water, oh cosmic libertine! Snap their starless net to catch the sea and a luminous fish which I may be presented with like inky flashes of thought courtesy of the streetlight moon who's pale properties signal GO
to those willing to decipher it's surface from this far away..
All the quiet beat down trees murmur muffled truth.

This truth is only available to dogs and Christ,
but not me, not any normal soul who's mortal vision is too blurred to make anything out of yet..this Springtime tapestry just a fragment
to an ETERNAL NOISE
which may be faintly audible past the waves
who try their best to stamp it out of perception.
But I am feeling particularly meditative tonight!
I'll at the very least stroke the thin top layer of absolute knowledge
and do so with heightened, trained consciousness..
when the moment is right
which may not be now
(definitely not now)
quelled by flesh and sleepy daze,
onyx silk covering us in warmth..but I will get there!
An Everest for any to see but exclusive to those who can.
Climbing higher in years
emotional trials
loves and fears
or passing seasons where I signify the apparent shift with
a name
(Parade)
or
(Pendulum)
Out from under
But not yet completely unwrapped from
The Mosaic
to see it all stretched open,
beautiful and tragic.

I felt it on the back of my neck,
a puff at first, licking at the sweat
soaked threads of tangled hair
that lay complacent on a broad reach

Telltales of the human kind that
whisper to the meta states before
transforming into siren calls of
change, something different,
something new, something
longed for in the quiet doldrums
trapped by endless drifting
on the boundless sea

My body turned instinctively
to face the tease, while my mind
remained behind, still stuck in
the quicksand grip of fading
memories, and slow surrender

And then the spray, from a swell
across the bow, a jolt of innocence
against a wall of indecision,
splashing hard my cheeks and
forehead, stinging splintered
lips and wincing unfocused eyes

A sudden rise came next, followed
by its fall, to weave their way into
a gentle roll that slowly
rocked the beam

Announcing arrival of the gusts,
scattered bursts at first, a panoply
of warm and cool that pressed
against my back and swam around
to fill, then leave the yearning sails

I hauled the sheets in closer, hoping
to capture the moment of the wind,
and though my preplanned destination
called the course I had been on, I
turned the wheel against the grain
and bid farewell, to the lee shore

I gazed out into the distance, where
whitecaps smiled at me, I smiled back
cranking sheets to the full
measure of the keel, and rode the
surging waves oncoming, taking
the howling wind on filling,
with its breath

my lungs, once again

that wasn't internet love
we weren't lovers
we could never be
we just talk over the encrypted airwaves
like chatty strangers meeting for the first time
at the grocery line
i'm always the one who tends to overshare
you always listen to all of my rants and woes
at 3am in sync with the echoing cuckoos
i know all of my telltales were like how songs
are played on repeat by a teenage avid fanatic
and by that you might just think i'm kinda lunatic
but i'm just a sad, sad girl
in need of a vent buddy
a friend, someone who never leaves
and you were there to fill up the role as what it seems
like a hero, a knight in shining armor
so i'm sending a million thanks, you've served my favor
and i hope you're doing great, wishing you all the best
oh God, how grateful i am that you exist
thank you for plugging in and staying up until 3am.

The autumn light is dimming me,
the gray between feet and sky
showers you with melancholy,
plucking orange and red from skeleton branches,
kicking through the decay on the concrete,
brings a fleeting smile,
the kiss of the air, welcome
and tightening the skin.

It’s time to go dark,
time to stare out at the gray,
carve out a space to wait,
to blend into shadow and sweat nothing,
to realise that you are this and this is all,
the being in a room, in a house, on a street,
in a town, on the edge of the sea,
heaving with the tide,
wishing to be swept away,
while watching TV for dinner.

Let us away, the locals would grin,
as they finished their drinks,
pulling on coats and each other as the pub vomits them onto the street,
their stroll home was short and forgotten,
the hefty one is planning to **** his wife,
a steak knife tucked into his belt,
handle wrapped with tape to avoid fingerprint telltales,
and yet,
tomorrow, tomorrow,
will be the same.

How dare you
click in the dark
with soft, uncalloused fingers
scraping what you didn’t bleed for,
scratching through ash
for sparks you didn’t birth.

I see you.
Vulture-eyed, dead-hearted,
sifting through soul for a dopamine hit.
You didn’t live it.
You didn’t scream it into a pillow at 3 a.m.
You didn’t shake with the ink.

You didn’t die for it.
I did.

But still
you rip out ribs of rhythm,
plagiarize pulse,
regurgitate ghosts
with your baby-AI mimicry,
your Frankensteined stanzas
stitched from the flesh of my grief,
I noticed,
I see you.

Little girl,
child of the click-and-paste spell,
you wear stolen metaphors
like cheap perfume
loud, tacky, choking,
wondering how it must be to feel?

I see the sudden genius
that bloomed from nowhere.
A drought of silence—then flood.
Words once dry
now drip with my salt, my blood, my pain
and you dare to name it yours?

I know my structure.
I fathered that form.
I spit syllables like bones,
stacked them in temples of torment,
broke English to make it feel,
broke myself to make it real,
and you think I don't know?

And now?
You **** the marrow of my music,
flesh-ripper,
content-corpse-dancer,
vampire with no hunger but vanity.
You steal scars and call it style,
Not all vampires **** blood.

Wonder, as you do
Muse won’t visit you.
She’s not fooled by filters
or your cosplay of pain.
She knows the difference
between trauma
and trend.

I see the telltales,
Regurgitated vocabulary,
gpt traced structure.
the sudden depth in shallow ponds,
the cracked mask of borrowed fire.
Your voice stinks of syntax theft.
I smell my soul on your verses,
One look I and I knew immediately.

You can’t fake origin.
You cant fake originality.
You can’t counterfeit truth.
And when you post your pretty poem,
know this:
You’re wearing my bones.
And they don’t fit.

I made this style.
I made this monster.
And it does not love its thief.

So burn in the echo.
You earned that silence.
You earned that shame.
May it echo louder
than any stolen applause
you’ll ever gain,
for every like you get,
know it's not yours.