Abuse I’ve Worked On — New Poems
The week left wreckage behind. He sat still, eyes wide—kept open by nicotine and a survival instinct that never shut off. Sober, technically. But nothing felt still inside. The thoughts were loud. Chaotic. Racing without lanes. He wasn’t high, just…
Burnt Offerings and Eye Rolls — New Poems
They want a miracle. I want a nap. We both walk away disappointed.
Clown — New Poems
One game, to my knowledge, That I play fair, at least I can say. I’ll be your clown in your play, Your chameleon to your disguises. I’ll tag along, making fools play— Better yet, I’ll be the first person to come to mind.…
Lonely Man Hours — New Poems
I started to balance out boundaries, But they waged wars within me, And with others. It made me sink into my own misery, A heart left pondering, unprotected. I mistook the downfalls, the cries, As proof that pain had…
The Walk Away (2025) — New Poems
Ever hear yourself walk away from your body? The first sign of pitching a pity party— a silent gathering of one. You howl to your own pack, seeking the emotional damages they left behind, scars that overwhelm, twisting…
Outcall the Outcast — New Poems
I wear the weight of my own making, a hero in a story I keep rewriting. Blood trails of broken wars within me— memories whisper, ghosts remind me— that I own my past, even when it tries to own me. A mind once dictated by the…
What a Clown — New Poems
Love can boast you straight into unpopularity, can pinch every thought of him while you’re still processing the pain— the real mental torture. It turns you into a comfortable mess, half-healed, half-haunted. Love—…
The Hollow World — New Poems
I walk this world I hate to touch, A barren stretch, a broken clutch, Where love is bruised and anger’s cursed, A place that’s nothing but its worst. The coven’s whispers claw my skin, A battle fought from deep within.…
Baseball — New Poems
Life throws its curveballs, strikes, and outs, A game of trials, filled with doubts. But each new inning gives us hope, A chance to swing, to rise, to cope. We stumble, fall, and lose our way, Yet still, the sun will rise…
I Killed the King — New Poems
Ninety-nine billion people, and I am the breath that fills your lungs— unseen, yet stitched into the fabric of your existence. Crafted by gods, an angel, they say, yet my edges are frayed by psychopathic tendencies. Raw…