I’m learning to let you go, but the mind holds on to what the heart once trusted. Some nights, I still wonder if I was a choice… or just a beautiful distraction.

Following the burnout comes the freeze. This entry conducts a forensic audit of the "Apathetic Hell"—a state of "adamantine" (unbreakable) indecision. It explores the "incapacitating cell" where the self is trapped between "inertial insouciance" and the desperate need for movement. It documents the "alchemic machinations" required to mobilize the will against the "flagitious verity" of stagnation.

Before the assassination of the self is complete, there is often a flash of blinding overload. This entry documents the mechanics of "Empathia"—the raw, unprotected ability to feel—and how it is inevitably "enervated" by the demands of others. It analyzes the transition from "seraphic candescence" to a necessary, strategic numbness. Here, apathy is not a failure of feeling, but a defensive "ploy" constructed to survive the "imperial divine."

If "Headshots" was the attack, this entry is the post-production. It analyzes how the "Lens of Obscurism" is used to crop reality. It documents the refusal to be the "subject" of someone else's distorted portfolio, finding "refulgence" (brilliance) in the messy, unedited self.

Addiction is a linguistic trap as much as a chemical one. This entry explores the "oxymoron" of the addict's logic—where destruction feels like safety, and sobriety feels like anthema. It documents the cycle of "apostasy" (falling off the wagon) and the terrifying realization that sobriety requires the one thing the assassin fears most: self-actualization.

Passivity is not merely the absence of action; it is an active imprisonment. This entry documents the "recidivism" of the anxious mind—the habitual return to the safety of doing nothing. It explores the "oubliette" (a dungeon with no exit) constructed by the self, where the "quit" takes the wheel and apathy actively hunts down human will.

"when a Hurricane knocked you into an arboreal grave across the river sticks, I remember my dad with his F150 pulling you back upright. "

The camera is rarely an objective observer; it is a tool of exclusion. This entry examines the "framing" of a narrative—how specific angles and lighting are manipulated to create a "flagitious" caricature of the subject. It uses the mechanics of photography as a metaphor for the "smear campaign," exploring how a Prime Lens (a fixed, narrow perspective) cannot zoom out to see the full context of the human spirit.

This inaugural entry addresses the internal mechanics of character assassination—specifically, the self-sabotage that mirrors external judgment. It explores the "freeze" response common in Generalized Anxiety Disorder, challenging the perception of this paralysis as mere laziness. It documents the struggle against the inertia of "what ifs" and the fight to reclaim agency from the false narratives we write about ourselves.

PLEASE be kind to everyone in this stream. Pronouns are He/Them/His ~Trans~Pride Safe Space~NO BULLYiNG~Thank You~

This is just a poem that I finally finished an extension of. The beginning, originally, "first there was John, then there was me." has many times helped to jog my memory during times when I've had moments of dèja vu of a long ago life I've lived And found myself reliving. Tonight this full version of it came to me.

I have this type of anxiety with being alone. I don't like empty spaces, and I hate being away from people. this is something I wrote when I was having a panic attack. I was alone on my campus.

https://ko-fi.com/palmettolyfenewsgroup The art of doing is work born in silence, A discipline so sharp it cuts through doubt.

In this next poem, positive attitudes and emotions will be showcased towards a pet cat. All cats are wonderful, but when one has a pet cat, it's a huge responsibility and yet, a very nice one. Pay attention to the imagery that is used as well as the "show, don't tell". The pet cat is something rather important here, and it is not just seen as a simple animal. Rather than simply stating how beautiful the cat is, the poet does something else, even more than simply stating the obvious. Why is that? There is also a case of repetition in the poem. Why do you think the poet used repetition? Above all, why do you think the poet used the term "beauty" over and over again and is it related to appearances only or is there something more powerful than that. You are welcome to analyze the poem as much as you like. Either way, hope you enjoy.

I beg your pardon. You came to me, darling. You've made a mountain out of a mole hill. You've questioned the days' somber. And to think, you've looked at me to undress days in and days out, and STILL, I am just another woman in your dainty curtain call of a bed.

What to do, when I start to miss you. A little harder each day, I begin to think you want me less. Though, If I was your favorite drug or rhythm, what would you cope with less?

My first ever written poem that explores love, hope , sadness and joy for tomorrow The feeling of a long tiring day captured into words

This is just an experimental type of poem I wrote. I like to mostly write horror and some dark poetry, because I'm just fucked up like that.

a poem. I mostly write because I feel something. I hope something I felt can make you feel something too.

Does life grab you by the balls, the tail, the ear? Or can it be a mason jar full of lost marbles? It’s not until they throw the book at you; to understand no one’s reading from script