Mental Health

The binding you toy with.. Top Story - July 2026.

A book written for the world, not read by many. One chapter about the fold, one about the glee. It starts with, the little fires under my skin & the dances with Molly

Adulting

When going from nothing to something Stress comes with it Some call it apart of life Some call it adulting Some say be grateful for it

Beyond the Initial Spark

For a relationship to last, it's not about loving someone who initially makes you infatuated, but about loving someone with good character.

Pieces lost

She’s not the only reason I smile, but she is the reason I can. I was left to stumble all the while— she took and held my hand.

Be In The Present

The present is a present Don’t miss it because once it’s gone you will truly miss it Every novel experience creates your life novel

Domestic

Here we are at the corner of Fuck my life and Maybe it'll be okay! My heart is broken. My head is full of shattered glass

Static

Static It’s never truly dark when a current wakes beneath the wool snapping in the shadows as low-voltage blue humming ripples across both arms, microscopic flashes of cold light blinking into existence then dying in the same breath. Suffocating weight, anxiety stuttering thirty frames each second vibrating through the bone, skin becomes a radio tower tuned to dead frequencies, run a hand down my arm and hear dry paper crepitating sudden constellations of fuzz illuminating hairs like frozen antennae there to catch the corrupted signal. Air too thick to breathe, flesh crackling with certainty that the interference refuses to clear, transmission permanently lost, suspended forever my body no longer solid, an unstable broadcast blurred edges flickering violently within inner walls, the terminal arc, dead air.

Whispers in My Head

After the Fires Were Put Out

After the Fires Were Put Out Nothing has collapsed. The rafters hold. The kettle remembers its familiar hymn each morning,

The House Keeps Its Own Hours

The House Keeps Its Own Hours The house has fallen asleep. Its beams, which spoke all day in familiar creaks, have settled into silence.

Structure

Some structures are understood only by the way they refuse to yield. Stand long enough beneath an old bridge, and the eye

“I Had a Dream of Two Suns”

Author’s Note This little poem came from a dream that felt more like a memory, a soft glimpse of a world where light doubled instead of dimmed, where people remembered how to smile, and where the sky carried every color, it ever held. I wrote it simply to capture that feeling, the kind of dream that stays with you long after you wake.