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How can you love when hate's all you've known? How can you arrive when the chance has flown? Love feels so distant, hard to comprehend; When words lose their melody, and rhythms won't blend. Without a guide to show you the way, Will you wander in circles, lost day after day? In a world without maps, where paths intertwine, How do you find...

On a wave above the Moon a crimson silence froths Makes you forget yourself and hurts when you can’t laugh For when you try to touch the Moon but glide a little past This silence is forever and rhymes ‘a broken heart’

I am not the face you see, Nor the body that you claim. I am the whisper in the wind, I am the call of the same. Not bound by land, nor by creed, Not by the words you speak or write, I am the spark within your soul, The silence that holds the light. Moksha, Tawhid, or Christ’s embrace, Brahman’s heart, or Allah’s grace— These names are threads,...

Sadness isn’t always obvious. Sometimes it shows up quietly, more like a fading feeling than something sharp. It can feel heavy, or just kind of hollow, like there’s a gap where something used to be, even if you can’t quite explain it. It has a way of making you slow down and pay attention. To what hurts, to what’s missing, or to things that...

The wind howls, madly Helping the waves crash onto a battered shore A place, familiar Names written in sand not there anymore The salt corrodes All it touches erased from memory And time dances on The cold has been my only company The veil has kept me From those who live above In houses warmed By flames of life and love How can I haunt Those...

You made a comment today. And suddenly I was back— Not in a memory, But in a feeling I thought I’d outgrown. That room with too many voices, Too many eyes that never met mine, Only glanced, judged, And moved on. They never said I was too much. They didn’t have to. It was in the empty seat beside me, The way they shifted in shared silence, As if my...

They gnaw at the edges of me, little sharp-toothed things with hollow eyes, crawling from the cracks in my skull to lap at the marrow of my thoughts. I used to fight them. I used to starve them. But hunger makes them cruel. So now I lay the table. Silver plates of regret, goblets brimming with old wounds, a banquet of memories too raw...