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It’s not the heartbreak that screams.
It’s the silence that follows.
The way someone becomes a stranger
while their memories still live in your chest.
How they laugh with others the way they used to with you—
and you pretend it doesn’t sting.
You act okay.
You smile.
But inside, you're mourning someone who’s still alive,
just no longer yours.
Juice of an orange
Spilled over the dark rain clouds
Last coral sunset
I am not a creator:

nope.
an amalgamator,
consolidator, a sifter,
a synthesizer, combinator,
employer of words

collect, analyze, repair, modify,
discern the overlapping, intersecting rhythms, the tools,

Drip from my lips, fall from of my grip, from my eyes, salty drip,
and I nail them to my bones,


herein lies my originality....

The millions upon millions of permutations combinations and iterations
That resolved themselves from the madness of my mind, are then attached to my living bones, inseparable, and my living mark of once existence
april / -may 2025
•###•

•the•message•is•so•phantom•

•strangled•
•during•the•thir­d•act•

•illuminated•
•letters•are•the•ciphertext•

•and•they•glo­w•
•in•your•eyes•
•Bletchley•Park•

•Turing•
•worked•it•out•with•­
•Delilah•

•they•killed•for•less•
•died•for•even•more•

•###•
SIN
I have a novel I can't
finish writing.
Because there are kisses left ungiven,
words left unspoken.
There are hugs left unfelt,
caresses that never became love.
There are laughter I never saw,
and tears I can't dry.
There are experiences left unlived,
and dreams undreamed.
One step, one shot, one final breath.
I walk through war, I talk to death.
He never speaks, but I still know
Not yet, not yet. There's more to go.
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