Death Does Woven Emotions — Jaded
Death, held in the heartstrings of melancholy, molding the heart, body, and soul into a slouched-over form, broken by people, places, and things. He sits alone, complying with the consistency of his trial, darkened by robust testimony. Melancholy…
If I Were — Jaded
If I were fragile like a flower, I’d have a lot of trouble finding my way. If I were fragile like a bomb, I’d have no trouble finding my way. Carry yourself with the best intentions. Don’t always sulk— simmer. Brush it off? It’s like saying, “He’s the…
Stanza — Jaded
“…They called it strength when I learned not to cry. But strength was the mask— survival was the monster underneath. I sharpened my silence into knives, built walls out of broken promises, and crowned my pain so it would kneel to me. What once controlled…
People, Shut Up — Jaded
What good does speaking bring when action is the goal? Quietly, we make it happen, remembering the role. But again, let’s not, and say we did, so the presumption of others becomes that Disney classic bid: “I’m a real boy.”
The Cost of Return — Jaded
If I had a dollar for every time someone left my life, I would be a billionaire. If I had a dollar for every time they left and came back, I would have nothing. Because absence has value. But return—return costs me everything. The reopening of doors, the…
Versions of Betrayal — Jaded
Getting used to a new custom— built by the version of me that dares to seek a better self— feels like betrayal pressed deeper into the spine I used to trust. Familiar rituals, once comforting, now ache like borrowed sins. Hopeful beginnings have made me…
Curtains Down — Jaded
Let’s pause and wake the fuck up. Laughing at your satire, yet I walked away with the Oscar. You tried to backstab me, dragging me into your world of people, places, and things. I volunteered for consideration— let that sink in. Remarkably, I saw three…
Do You Ever Leave Yourself Alone — Jaded
Torture syndrome still lingers at the rate of my successful climax, pedaling so far, yet the pedals always need changing. Am I doing too much? Or am I doing too little? Seems like the world would rather have torture syndrome than one less lonely pedal…
Ever Hear Yourself Walk Away from Your Body? — Jaded
Body? Ever hear yourself walk away from your body? Yeah— that’s the first sign of pitching a pity party. It begins with a howl to your own pack, begging them to assess the emotional damages they inflicted. The scar? It hijacks your process every time you…
Calling Drunk — Jaded
Pasting by the life we built, like films on a movie board— the beginning, the middle, the ending. We created scenes of happy days, torn apart by the pain of others’ jealousy. Their envy lingered, a shadow on our brightest frames, turning laughter into…