When you put on…
as many times before
the "in movement"
words and tones,
unfinished… music list
what should've got
to be everyday jewelry box,
widening as life itself,
new memories each day,
but instead became an
emotional forecast you don't want to go back…
to

From I live, I feel
From oh that was THAT day 🥹
nostalgic energizing,
to release and
let it stay
right there
with no turning back

It drifts in quiet whispers,
like dust in golden light,
A memory dressed in shadows,
soft edges blurred from sight.

The laughter of old summers,
still echoes through the trees,
A childhood lingers gently,
in the scent of autumn leaves.

A song half-remembered,
plays faintly in the air,
Its melody a lantern,
guiding me back there.

Yet nostalgia is a tender thief,
it steals but gives anew-
A bittersweet reminder,
of dreams I once walked through.

The house was not built of stone, but of a mother’s curdled vanity—a monument to the mirrors that loved her and the son who could not. It was a cathedral of rot where the air tasted of stale lilies and expensive sweat. The Mother moved through the gloom like a velvet contagion, a herald of doom draped in the ghost of French perfume. Her name was a prayer whispered in a graveyard, a beautiful lie that strangled the very love she had birthed in the dark, damp cave of her womb.

That day I hoped
I slept through
My alarm clock

As time prayed
The minutes
Crawled for once

The heavens’
Call center
Was overrun
By prayers

The front door
Locked me in
To keep me safe
From your pain

As my heart
Sent love
To intoxicate fear

The world lost
Its moonlight
As the stars
Wished they could
Lead you into my arms

Even if you were elsewhere
This house was full
Of sacred silence
And a faith that tires
Hades and his minions