poem
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Saturday Night
It’s Saturday night And you’re still not here By my side But then again You never were Really here Just a figment of My overactive imagination My punishment For my Hyper-independence And yet I still wait All alone On this Saturday night For you And only you About Saturday Night: It’s been a busy day… Continue reading
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Nothing To Write

Nothing to write But still filled with delight A secret to share If any of you care Something special is coming soon It’s sending me over the moon! About “Nothing To Write”: I have been incredibly busy today but in a good way. And I was wondering what I would share on the blog since… Continue reading
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My Muse

My muse She speaks to me Flirting Her hand on my shoulder Disappearing just as I turn Into the crowd of thoughts That never end But in the final Quietest hours of the night She finds me The games end Hand in hand We become one She is me And I am her. About My… Continue reading
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An Insomniacs Paradise

The quiet of the night Sends a tingle down my spine So silent and peaceful I’m in a serene state of mind I take it all in Deep breaths My head resting against the pillow Picturing the life I want In my pajamas Enveloped in the warmth of my blanket I experience An insomniacs paradise.… Continue reading
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Drowning In Ecstasy

She licks the icing off the tip of her finger Slowly, seductively You can’t take your eyes off her What is this sorcery? Your breathing grows rapid Faster and faster Only one thought in your mind, vapid You are the pawn and she the master Drowning in ecstasy Breathless, desperate, overpowered by instinct You are… Continue reading
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Musings (2025) (Guest Post)
‘My desperate yearnings as a schoolboy / My true fantasy, a dreamer full to the brim / Were clocking you, beauteous, radiant but coy / Your dreary eyes wide open, angelic face held nigh / Ready for the next decade, prepped to fly’ The except is taken from ‘Mi Primer Adios’ (‘My First Farewell’). My… Continue reading
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Call Me By My Name

You would call me a poet If the body by my feet was metaphorical You would call me an actress If the screams had been fake You would call me an artist If the blood on my hands were paint You would call me conquerer If the one body had been hundreds instead You call… Continue reading
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A Well Kept Secret

At the mansion there was a secret In the garden lay the body of its first mistress Pushing up daisies… or in this cases roses as dark as night It was an eerily beautiful sight You see she had committed the mortal sin Of letting her age show on her skin The master of the… Continue reading



