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I am but a humble scrivener, of ink and vellum born,I tend the wills of gentlemen – their fortunes and their scorn.The stacks are cold and airless, where the candle’s seldom lit,And ghosts of ink and parchment whisper, “mind the words you’ve writ.”They speak of pale Annabel, a clerk of modest wage,Who vanished from her
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Cheap champagne, paper streamers, I played the good hostess in a house full of tears. Swallowed the truth till it burned going down,Ignored the fault lines that grew without sound. You said, “It’s all in your head,” with that sugar-laced grin,Twisting the story to stay in your spin.But a whisper of fury’s a vow I’ll
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It’s 3 A.M. and the fridge is humming,I’m not twenty-three, but the past keeps coming.Calculator running inside my head:Five years of “us,” eight years of “dead.”The numbers don’t lie, they just draw a line;This resentment’s the one thing still mine.My friends are all tired of hearing my side,They say, “Let it go, let the past
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You taught me to smile like a switchblade in sheath,Say “bless your heart” through the grit of my teeth.Walk through a fire while lighting a cigarette,Win every fight I haven’t lost yet.You measured my spine ’til it learned to stay straight,Taught me the formula — love into hate.Told me to treat my own kindness like
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Another Saturday night spent baptizing our problems in fluorescent light.The coffee’s a sermon on burning out slow.The jukebox is screaming a hymn for the broke,and we’re just disciples of nowhere to go.And the sugar rush hits like a cheap revelation,we’re praying for something to break the stagnation.Oh, this ain’t a breakdown, it’s just a dress
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I used to sleep like a solider,Boots by the bed, eyes on the door.Now I lie still in the quietAnd wonder what I’m waiting for.I don’t miss the fire or the wreckage,Just the way it made me move. When everything was burning,At least I knew what to do.Patched their walls, ignored my stress.Thought my giving
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I ironed my trauma ’til it looked good on film.Hid all the fractures right under the gilt.I was the trophy you posed on the shelf,A masterclass lesson in hating myself.I played the victim for so long,’Til I realized the villain gets the better song. I was good on paper – now I’m hell in heels.You
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You left me a ring made of soot and smoke,A promise half-burned, a joke I never broke. Taught me “fire keeps you warm, if you just stop the tears.”I mastered the poker face; I practiced for years. You stitched your survival right under my skin,A lineage of flint where love should’ve been.Said, “Pain is a
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I Wrote This Instead of Screaming 