Cassette A.

Writing feelings down makes me feel okay, sometimes. :))

Writings

Followers

Following

Cassette A.

Writing feelings down makes me feel okay, sometimes. :))

Writings

Followers

Following

The Illusion Of Flight

Cassette A.

1 min read

The birds circle overhead, their wings spread wide,

They dance on winds that whisper, soft yet strong.

They soar as though the endless blue is wide,

Yet trace the same old path they’ve flown so long.

No walls confine them, yet they dare not stray,

As if the sky itself had drawn a chain.

They rise and fall, but never drift away,

Bound by a force they cannot quite explain.

And are we not like them...

Poetry

Lost in the Sound

Cassette A.

1 min read

I press play, and the world shifts—

a guitar screams, a piano whispers,

and I slip between the cracks,

never quite fitting into any note.

One song gives me fire,

another pulls me to the floor,

but when it ends,

I’m still here—

no clearer than before.

I chase rhythm like it’s a heartbeat,

try on voices like borrowed skin,

but none of them hold me,

none of them are mine.

Maybe I’ll never find my ...

Poetry

Lament of the Sea Maidens

Cassette A.

1 min read

The air is heavy, thick with rot,

salt and sweat and things forgot.

It clings like hands that will not break,

that grasp too tight, that take and take.

The boards above her bend and groan,

a beast that shifts, a thing half-bone.

Boots pace steady, back and forth,

like wolves that scent the wound beneath,

like hunters circling something weak.

The sea is close—it calls, it cries,

its breath is sha...

Poetry

A Function, Not A Feeling

Cassette A.

1 min read

It is not a thing of poetry.

It does not ache. It does not long.

It is a fist, clenching, releasing,

a machine of muscle and impulse,

wet and red, unthinking, unfeeling.

It does not flutter. It does not break.

It contracts like a steel trap,

like a piston firing in rhythm,

a cycle, a pattern, a function.

It does not sing your name.

It pounds like a hammer against bone,

not for beauty, not for lo...

Poetry

Empty Ledger

Cassette A.

1 min read

I deal in hearts, not coin or land,

invest in you, then leave unmanned.

You’ll search for worth in what we were,

but love was never mine to stir.

And when you ask how much you’ve lost,

know I was rich before the cost....

Poetry

How Does A Hand Forget ?

Cassette A.

1 min read

Held in open hands—

a blade or a trembling rose.

Both will leave a scar....

Poetry

The Ritual

Cassette A.

1 min read

Lip gloss four times, never three,

Or he won’t want to look at me.

Mascara ten or I’ll seem plain,

Too much and he’ll call me vain.

A kiss to prove I know my place,

A second so he’ll still embrace.

My hand in his, just soft enough—

Too firm, I’m needy. Too light, too tough.

I count, I fix, I do it right—

But when did love start feeling tight?...

Poetry

The Dead Musicians’ Support Group

Cassette A.

1 min read

The bird sings at dawn, a melody soft and bright,

but it is not her voice—

not the song that once spilled from her lips,

filling these walls with golden sound.

Now the silence swallows the notes whole,

leaving only the hush of loss.

The sunlight drapes itself across the floor,

warm as the brush of her fingertips,

but it does not dance as she did.

She would twirl between dust motes, laughing,

spin...

Poetry

Still, I Bloom

Cassette A.

1 min read

You are a wildflower,

untamed and golden,

blooming where the wind lays you down.

You stretch toward the sun,

rooted in nothing but freedom,

a whisper of color in the quiet earth.

The bees hum your name,

the breeze bends for you,

the world is softer where you stand.

I am a weed.

A thing unwelcome, unchosen,

growing in the cracks where no one looks.

My roots are stubborn, deep and desperate,

clingi...

Poetry

The Ruin We Become

Cassette A.

3 min read

**((Trying to write some stories—let me know how I can improve!))**

The cathedral stood at the edge of the world, a skeleton of stone and sorrow. Stained glass, fractured by time, cast dying colors across the ruins, and the air reeked of burned roses.

Lucian knelt at the altar, his breath shallow, his hands shaking. He had come here to escape—to silence the voices that followed him like ghosts...

Fantasy