Through the Fog

Category: Uncategorized

  • Flint

    Photo Credit: Pete F

    Flint strikes out

    and pierce the dark—

    a single spark

    against a sky

    that’s forgotten how to shine.

    For a moment,

    light is a knife

    cutting through the quiet,

    a reminder

    that even the smallest fire

    can challenge the night.

    The dark leans in,

    hungry,

    certain it will swallow everything—

    but flint is stubborn,

    and sparks are born

    with rebellion in their bones.

    One strike,

    one flash,

    one heartbeat of brightness—

    enough to tell the shadows

    they don’t own this place,

    not tonight.

    Sometimes

    all it takes

    to change the whole sky

    is a spark brave enough

    to burn.

  • Dead Flowers

    Photo Credit: Earl Wilcox

    Dead Flowers

    They sit on the table,

    stems bowed like prayers

    that were never answered.

    The petals curl inward,

    holding their last breath,

    fragile and stubborn

    against forgetting.

    I should throw them away.

    But I don’t.

    I let them stay—

    a monument

    to what once was alive

    and too beautiful to last.

    You’d laugh if you saw them now,

    these ghosts in a vase,

    color drained,

    smelling faintly of endings.

    I keep them

    like I kept your words—

    even when they started to rot.

    There’s a strange kind of comfort

    in decay.

    It reminds me that love

    was here once,

    that something bloomed,

    even if it died

    quietly.

    And maybe that’s enough—

    to know it lived,

    to know it mattered,

    to sit with the proof

    in a vase of dead flowers.

  • I Wish You Were Here

    I wish you were here—

    not just in memory,

    not in dreams that vanish with the dawn,

    but here, breathing beside me.

    The nights are longer without you.

    The walls remember your laughter,

    but they don’t echo it right anymore.

    I keep reaching for a ghost

    that won’t reach back.

    Some days, I almost hear your voice,

    soft as wind against my skin,

    and I turn too quickly,

    forgetting—

    it’s just the world moving on without you.

    You should’ve seen the sunrise today.

    It broke through the clouds like hope

    pretending to be light.

    I stood there wishing

    you could’ve felt it too.

    I wish you were here—

    not because I need saving,

    but because some moments

    are too heavy to hold alone.

  • High Alert

    My body doesn’t trust the quiet.

    Even silence hums like danger.

    Every creak, every breath,

    feels like the start of something breaking.

    My heart sprints with no finish line,

    my hands forget how to rest.

    It’s not that I’m afraid of dying—

    I’m afraid of feeling this forever.

    The world moves in slow motion,

    but my thoughts race ahead,

    building fires where there’s only smoke,

    seeing ghosts in harmless shadows.

    I tell myself I’m safe,

    but my pulse calls me a liar.

    There’s no off switch,

    only exhaustion wearing my name.

    Still, I breathe—

    even if it’s shallow, even if it shakes.

    I remind myself:

    this is just my body trying to protect me,

    even when there’s nothing left to run from.

  • Words, They Always Win

    Photo Credit:Maxime Gilbert

    I’ll be so fucking rude,

    because softness never saved me.

    You’ll twist my quiet into guilt,

    call it proof that I don’t care.

    Words, they always win,

    but I know I’ll lose—

    every argument ends

    with me swallowing apologies

    for things I didn’t do.

    You speak like thunder,

    and I break like glass.

    My voice shakes,

    so I let silence speak for me,

    but even silence gets misheard.

    I’m tired of explaining pain

    to people who caused it.

    Tired of pretending I’m fine

    just so no one feels uncomfortable.

    Maybe I’m the villain

    in stories you tell to sleep at night,

    but I know what it costs

    to stay kind in a world

    that only listens when you scream.

    So tonight I’ll be loud,

    I’ll be wrong,

    I’ll be everything you said I shouldn’t—

    and maybe then,

    finally,

    I’ll win something back.

  • Rage

    Photo Credit:Kiara Kulikova

    I want to scream until the stars fall,

    until the sky cracks under the weight of my name.

    I’m tired of being calm,

    tired of pretending I don’t feel the storm.

    Let me burn—

    let me rip the silence wide open.

    Every bottled-up thought,

    every swallowed scream,

    every “it’s fine” I choked on—

    I want it out.

    Let me rage,

    wild and unpretty,

    until my chest stops shaking

    and I can breathe again.

  • Drain Me

    Photo Credit: Europeana

    I thought about drinking the end,

    letting it burn its way through the ache,

    turning pain into silence.

    But somewhere between thought and act,

    a voice whispered—not yet.

    A trembling sound, small but alive,

    saying maybe there’s still a sunrise

    I haven’t seen.

    I get so tired of that voice—

    the voice of reason,

    always telling me there’s more to live for,

    a glimmer of hope I don’t want to think about.

    The world feels heavy,

    pressing against my ribs,

    reminding me I’m still here.

    And I am—

    shaking, breaking,

    breathing anyway.

    I don’t want to die.

    I just want the pain to stop

    before it swallows me whole.

  • Don’t Let Me Down

    You say you won’t let me down.

    And I almost believe you.

    Because your voice sounds steady, your words sound like safety, and for a moment I forget what disappointment feels like.

    But I’ve heard those promises before — soft and certain, dripping from lips that never meant to stay. People promise things they can’t keep, not because they want to hurt you, but because they don’t know how deep the hurt already runs.

    You say you won’t let me down, but life has a way of proving otherwise.

    It’s not always betrayal that breaks me — sometimes it’s the quiet absence, the unanswered message, the way someone’s warmth fades without warning.

    I’ve learned that love doesn’t always mean safety, and trust doesn’t always mean forever. Sometimes “I won’t let you down” just means “I’ll try, until I can’t anymore.”

    And maybe that’s okay.

    Maybe the point isn’t to find someone who never lets me down — maybe it’s to learn how to stand up on my own when they do.

    Still, there’s a part of me that wants to believe you.

    That fragile, foolish part that hopes this time is different.

    That maybe when you say you won’t let me down… you mean it.

  • Boundaries

    They told me boundaries were healthy,

    but no one warned me they’d feel like loneliness.

    That saying no could echo so loudly

    inside a heart that only ever wanted to be seen.

    I built fences out of survival,

    not pride.

    Each post hammered in with memories

    of what it cost to trust the wrong hands.

    Now, when someone knocks,

    I hesitate.

    Not because I don’t want to open the gate—

    but because I still remember

    how it felt to be left bleeding in the garden.

    They say healing means protecting your peace,

    but sometimes peace looks like distance.

    Sometimes it means loving yourself enough

    to walk away before the breaking starts.

    So if you think I’m cold,

    understand this—

    I am only guarding what’s left.

    And if I keep the door locked,

    it’s not because I don’t care.

    It’s because I finally do.

  • 3:00 A.M. Confession

    Do you drown out your sorrows

    with whiskey, cocaine,

    a 3:00 a.m. panic

    and a prayer for change?

    Do your hands shake

    when the silence gets too loud,

    when your heart forgets

    what calm feels like?

    Do you chase peace

    the same way you chased the high —

    desperate, trembling,

    half alive, half gone?

    Because I do.

    Every night I beg the dark

    to let me start over,

    and every morning,

    I wake up still burning.