A mask is worn by the one's

With things to hide. A painted

Smile, a hollow laugh, a careful

Script, a well-worn path.

He walks among the crowd

Unseen, a marionette in a prefect

Play, each step rehearsed, his

Words routine, afraid the truth

Might slip away

But in the quiet, eyes betray

A fleeting glance, a longing

stare, a silent plea, a whispered

Prayer, that love might find it's

Rightful way.

He walks past and I can see,

A love that dares not shows it's

Face, a truth that burns, a hidden

Flame, yet bound by chains

he won't break free.

The world demands, the mask

Remains, a careful act, a practiced

Guise, yet in the dark, behind

His eyes, the storm of all he

Can't explain.

But what if love wasn't a sin?

What if the world could beat the light?

He'd cast away the life of night,

And breathe, at last, unshackled skin.

Oscar.

Note: I have had this written for awhile but never really shared it due to fears of it impacting I'm life but here it is on Reddit. I do hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.

Will you really take me
Right here, in the yard?
Where everyone can see-

Pay them no heed,
I just want them to watch
As I plant my seed

But daddy, they're staring
I see the envy in their eyes
Getting close to glaring
As you thrust between my thighs

Darling, don't be silly
They just wish they were you
Or even wish they were me
Dominating, owning you

Oh fuck, that's the right spot
Please don't stop now,
I couldn't care less for the onlookers
It's only about how

You're breaking me in two
So don't you dare slow down
You're fucking my sorrow
Back to smiles from a frown

They can all hear you, baby
Every desperate whimper
As my cock fills your pussy
As you purr and simper

I'll lift you up now
So I can grope at these tits
Then right on my cock I will turn you to sit

I'm closer to the edge now
My eyelids are glistening
With wet unshed tears
And those whispers, they're listening

As I quake and stutter
Tipped right off the edge
Moans become curses
My body to you I do pledge

Hold on tightly, darling
They can all watch exactly how
What a Dom does to his Sub
My prized little sow

Urgh... fuck... fuck! I'm cumming
Planting seed right inside
Your legs should be shaking
Mine are too, I can't hide

For the first time in eight years,

I found you last night.

I thought I’d lost you.

I was beginning to forget your voice.

But there you were,

clear as ever,

in the same place

where I found you last.

Unchanged.

Still the same.

Because I see all of their faces

Their bodies

Their cocks

Invading space

Invading time

Invading me

I don’t want to see their faces anymore

I wish I said “No”

I wish I said “Stop”

I wish I said “Leave me alone”

But, that is the past

And I am here now

“No,” I tell the memories

“Stop,” I tell the loops

“Leave me alone,” I tell the thoughts

Please, please, please

Just GO

Like they never did

I want to tie you up
And have my pretty little way with you
So many depraved things
I would love to do with you

Like leave you handcuffed to my bed
Whilst you beg and plead for more
Cut my name into your skin
Promise that I'll love you evermore

Whilst trailing lines with my tongue
Along your pulse and heart
Press my fingers into your hips
Give your cock a kick-start

I'm a quintessential brat
That'll look at you like that
Pure hungered heat in her eyes
And a burning pulse between her thighs

Let the world fall away
As my fingers come out to play
Dipping between each soppy shore
Gasping, grasping, wanting more

But pull the fingers out from their den
Wipe them across your mouth, and then
Smile as you start to lick your lips
Pull you into the deepest kiss

Watch your muscles pulling at the ropes
As you yearn to grab me, turn this scene around
Until you are there on top of me,
But baby, you need to forget those hopes

For I am the one in charge, for now
And I'll show exactly how
I play with my food
Before I absolutely devour you

In bed I lay, blanketed in my jealousy
The world has left me behind.
I scroll endlessly, a deep aching longing for places I’ll never visit,
Food I’ll never taste,
And clothes I’ll never wear.

I watch forgotten friends wish belated birthdays,
Congratulations graffitied on the walls of strangers I never truly knew.
New lives and fresh beginnings.
As I lay in my quotidian throne I am filled with a lust for more.
A hunger, for a world I may never know.

I watch those around me flourish in careers,
Becoming mothers,
Married with mortgaged homes.
And from my castle of despair, I am hateful.
I have wished them all dead a thousand times,
Simply for having a life more fulfilling than mine.
I scroll and I like and I comment,
Best wishes to the happy bride!
Sending my love to the beautiful family!
But it is lies.

I am sickly sweet.
Sticky and false.
Clinging to a sliver of disaster.
I read unending comments, searching for anarchy.
I have time on my hands,
Endless amounts.
So I scroll until the secrets fall out,
And I bathe in them.
From my kingdom, I rejoice.
Satiated in the knowledge that “picture perfect” is as much a liar as I.

I'm grieving someone who hasn't died, Someone sleeping right by my side. Someone who I can reach and touch, Yet somehow still miss so much.

I'm grieving the you I used to know, The one I swore I'd never let go. The one who convinced me love was real, And showed me how deeply I could feel.

For just a moment, it all seemed clear, The life we'd dreamed of was finally here. And then, like clockwork, back we fell, Into the darkness we know too well.

I'm grieving the chance I barely had, To be happy without waiting for things to go bad. To love you completely, without holding back, And not spend our best days mending the cracks.

I'm grieving the us I thought we'd be, And the future I could almost see. I'm grieving the years we cannot save, And the love we keep bringing back from its grave.

I'm grieving the thought that you may never see, That the girl you fell for is still inside me. And the cruelest part of all this grief, Is how your return still brings me relief.

When your hand finds mine, the fear disappears, For just a brief moment, you're really here. I stop mourning what we used to be, And hope you've found your way back to me.

But maybe someday I won't reach for you, Or search your eyes for the love I once knew. And nothing scares me more than the day, You come back to me, but I don't feel the same.

There won't be a moment that we say goodbye, No bags by the door, no tears left to cry. Just you lying here, a few inches away. And me missing someone who promised to stay.

You hold this story like a treasure,
tucked away for the right hour.
When the sun leans low,
I will tell you:
I notice how you never miss the chance
to step out in style,
to wear your brilliance like a garment
for the world to admire.

But beneath the color and the cut,
you are a locked door,
a quiet room,
holding pieces of yourself
back in the shadows
where only you can go.

Slumbering amongst abundant wildflowers,
A serene sigh slips from her lips.
Sunlight tenderly warms her skin,
While chocolate tempts her with its sweetest sin.

At that moment,
He wanders in across the cobbled stones,
Drawn by a breeze that whispers through the air.
Past watchful sycamores, he follows its call,
Each murmur beckoning him near.

His footsteps stir the delicate blooms,
Each step a whisper against the earth.

He pauses.

His gaze descends upon her,
Lingers,
Devours.

And then—
His lip curls in disgust.

Between the Watch and the Silence

A poem of two dreams

I. The Watch Shop
I went to church to meet my friends,
A place I thought I knew,
But half walked out through unfamiliar doors,
And half went wandering through.

A watch shop stood where faith should be,
With glass and gold displayed,
And I walked in with empty feet,
In hole-worn socks arrayed.

The people who can buy these things,
I thought, don’t look the type.
As though the wealth behind the glass
Were some elaborate lie.

My friends had wandered further on,
So I devised a way
To move between the desks by hand,
And shuffle through the day.

They laughed at me. I caught a glimpse
Of myself within a mirror—
A neck like Haaland’s, stretched absurd,
My silhouette no clearer.

And yet I laughed along with them;
The fool was me, it’s true.
There was no shame in looking strange
Beneath that gilded view.

Then, on a whim, I tried a flip,
Expecting to descend—
But gravity forgot its work,
And would not let me end.

I hung suspended in the air,
No landing, no reply.
I couldn’t understand the rules
Of staying in the sky.

We left the shop. The dream withdrew.
The waking world grew near.
The room was hot, the night was done—
And nothing brought me clear.

II. The Foam Stick
Somewhere else, a distant place,
A trip beneath strange skies,
Two teachers kept their watch on us,
Two pairs of judging eyes.

And there she was, the girl I’d learned
To keep a space between;
A history I could not change,
A silence in the scene.

A telephone call broke her calm.
She wept, then came to me,
And wrapped her arms around my back
As though I were the key.

I held her, not knowing what
The moment asked me to do.
Then pointed towards the watching teacher
— You saw her come here too.

But she mistook the gesture’s aim,
And read a cruel intent.
The girl released me, turned away,
And wept at what she’d sensed.

I tried to speak. The words were there.
They crowded at the door.
But every time I reached for them,
The teacher spoke once more.

I turned to one, then turned again,
Convinced that one might hear;
But neither gave my words a place,
And neither let me clear.

A soft foam stick lay in my hand,
A ridiculous defence.
I struck it out against the air,
Against their indifference.

It touched their heads; they barely moved.
No anger, no surprise.
I brought it to the other one,
Still searching for her eyes.

I poked, I struck, I tried again—
A child against a wall.
The stick could make no difference;
It changed nothing at all.

For what could force an ear to hear?
What blow could make words true?
What use is knowing what you meant
If none will listen to you?

The girl was gone. The teachers stayed.
My explanation, lost.
I stood amid the wreckage of
A truth that had no cost—

Except the price of being judged
Before the case was heard,
Of having every gesture weighed
But never one clear word.

III. Between the Dreams
One night, I laughed at being strange,
And floated without knowing why.
The next, I fought to make things clear,
And could not make them try.

In one, the world forgot its laws;
In one, it would not bend.
In one, I rose without a cause;
In one, I could not reach the end.

Perhaps the mirror asks me this:
What matters when we’re seen?
The foolish shape we show the world,
Or what we truly mean?

Perhaps the sky can hold a man
Who doesn’t know he’s flown.
Perhaps the hardest fall is not
The one we take alone.

But somewhere past the glass and gold,
Past judgement, noise and fear,
There waits a place where I can speak—
And someone chooses to hear.

If you tear me down

Rip the outer shell away

Tell me what's left

Is the sum of my parts

A life worth saving

Or in death will I be

A life finally worth something

Am I just a walking tragedy

That nobody will see

Until what's left is just a memory

Her touch is intoxicating,
luring me in like a reptile bathing in the summer sun.
I can’t move.
No, I dare not move,
afraid to leave the warmth I so desperately need.

Her blue eyes are like the first steps into a rolling beach wave,
soothing,
the feeling of the ocean cooling you from the summer sun.
I can’t get enough.

Her voice is like a siren’s,
consuming,
lingering on every word,
luring me into her oceans from my ship,
where I forever sink into her beauty.

Her giggles after I’m done tickling her,
her little huffs of breath in between,
her full cheeks,
her scrunched nose,
her settling in,
waiting to see if I’ll tickle her more,
her flopping as I tickle her again.

Her smile is my world.

I’d willingly lose myself in you, because to me,
being lost in you is my way of being home.

I want to hold you
With my lips,
Wrapped around
Your face shows bliss.

Eyes roll back
Into your head,
My tongue runs
Along your head.

You pull me closer,
Your hand twists hair,
Straight to the base,
Then holds me there.

A pump, a swell
One jerk meets two,
A grunt of exertion
A gentle coo.

Thrusts into mouth
Just like a pussy
Hard as a rod
And keeps on pushing.

Saliva dribbles
From mouth to floor
And yet there's something
That still needs more...

Eyes open like a storm
Raging in your brain
Until my name
Becomes the refrain:

It feels so good
Just like that, good girl
Now pause a second
Give that tongue a swirl...

It's all backed up
Feel it in your balls
As you move us both
From floor to wall

Heaved up onto feet
Face pressed to plaster
Slipped into wetness
Heart beating faster

Faster now,
Pounded into brick
The cunt between my legs
Runs slick

Trickles down my legs
Onto your balls
Until grunting
Becomes pulsing roar

Then with a cry,
You lose your load
Cock pushed tightly in
Hips slowed
Impulses showed

To breed and conquer
Mouth pressed to ear:
Well now, that was
Just incredible;
Thank you, dear.

When day comes
You shall not repent
The day comes
and you too
Youll be where the wings lie
with those who've fallen before you.
- Athiest

He used to make me feel
like I was putting on the performance of a lifetime.
Now I know
we were both just pretending,
ignoring that something felt different.

A cape I don,
a dance I do,
just as I’m supposed to.
The faces, the sounds,
the way I change my posture,
all a part of my carefully crafted persona.

She knows how to act
how to whisper
how to touch
how to please
a collection of characters I try on and appropriate.

What am I but an object to be consumed
A piece of meat to be devoured
A sexual being that I am not

10 sep 2026

im watching the train

coming into the station

slow motion,

because i can see

the place where

the track has already

come loose.

i make eye contact

with the people inside

they smile back at me

and i smile back too;

what else could i do?

why should i make

my worry

their worry?

they're about to have

worry enough

of their own.

I laughed, not because it was funny, but because I’d seen it all before.
The same tired tropes, the same old pain, the same body declared a war.

An illness with an illness, a misery made art,
A slow disappearance striking cold and sharp and smart.

How many books could tell the same story and give it a different name?
How many lives could fall apart before it stopped being the same?
They made it sound so sacred, the suffering, the pain,
As though there was something lovely in having nothing left to gain.

I kept reading, half amused by how predictable it could be.
Another character hating their reflection, another line that felt like me.

And wasn’t that the strangest part, the thing I couldn’t quite ignore?
I laughed at all the things I knew, then turned the page for more.

Outside, the first real cold had settled heavy in the air,
The kind that slips beneath your skin and leaves you standing there,
The kind that makes the world go quiet, numbing you for a while,
Until you almost can’t remember how it ever felt to smile.

There were quiet lines for every day, a precise and silent count
Of taking less than you were given, measuring down the amount.
Of trying to make a body smaller, needing less to be enough.

I knew those lines. I knew that fear. I’d written my own somewhere,
Keeping track of every day I thought I took more than my share.

And still, I laughed. How could I not? They’d captured it so well,
The quiet little tragedy, the private kind of hell.

They gave the pain a purpose, made the suffering profound,
As if you needed pretty words to make a life worth writing down.

But reaching the end, I turned back, tracing every act.
The lines were still the same, the ink hadn’t moved an inch,
Yet something in the words I’d mocked made my stomach twist.

I read them again, and once again. What once felt far away
Was standing quietly in the room, with nowhere left to stray.

I’d thought I knew the story, that I’d seen it all before,
But every line I read again became a closing door.
The room grew cold. My hands held tight against the final page.
I’d laughed at all the clichés, dismissed them as a phase,

As if knowing how the story went could keep me safe from harm,
As if recognizing the trap meant I’d never lose my calm.

I looked down at the paper, at the ink beneath my thumb.
I’d spent so long believing I was different, that I couldn't be this dumb,

That this story wasn't mine to claim, that I was standing clear.
But the more I read, the less was left between myself and here.

I wanted to laugh again, to call it fake, to claim they didn't know,
To pretend the author guessed at things I’d never dared to show.

But the words stayed printed on the page, and nothing left to hide,
And for once I couldn’t close the cover and leave it all inside.

I’d picked up the book to mock the grief between every little line,
At the way they made a sickness sound so holy, so divine.

I stopped laughing for a second and put the instruction book away.

Cause I knew the book by heart,

My words on full display.

“Why have You forsaken me?”

Psalm 22:1.

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”

Matthew 27:46.

“Why have You forsaken me?”

Chop Suey — System Of A Down.

Mm.

A recurring motif, no?

Both religiously and sacrilegiously.

Curious.

(Selah.)

I suppose I could cry at the thought of an angel

deserving to die.

Ah, always so self-righteous.

Never once quite slipped for over half of your life.

Could you be that angel?

Because you… you’ve always been so good.

And then, you fell.

You were so high, though, your fall was rather like witnessing death.

So impeccable.

What for, really?

You wanted to please everyone, but so early on, the rage beneath couldn’t stay buried for long.

You pleased everyone. At the expense of your life.

(Selah.)

It’s rather fascinating, I’ll admit, 

realizing how the ultimate expression of 

human abandonment hasn’t changed in the slightest in over two millennia.

Does anyone really take the time to realize that “pleasing everyone” becomes almost indistinguishable from self-erasure?

Given the data… I’d suppose not.

The angel remained impeccable because the angel was willing to sacrifice itself.

And eventually there was nothing left to sacrifice—except itself.

I mean…

If the highest, purest creation can fall, what chance did a human trying to be flawless ever have?

(Selah.)

Oh, don’t mind me—nor mistake me for trying to play the “devil’s advocate.”

By now, I’ll suppose you’re used to my willingness to play with imagery.

But…

Yes.

The angel can have rage.

The angel can fall.

The angel can fail.

The angel can even be responsible for some of its own destruction.

But still—

why was it forsaken?

That question remains unanswered.

Was it forsaken at all?

Given the data… it’s a plausible possibility.

Was it forsaken even before it fell?

Because otherwise… why would it have fallen?

How could it?

One was impeccable. The other was flawless.

You gave away your life to please others—

until the only piece left to burn on the altar was your actual identity.

Does that count as a Sunday testimony?

(Selah.)

Did it fall?

Did it want to fall?

Was it pushed?

Was it—for a millisecond—relieved it’d been pushed?

Because then, the façade could’ve been gone.

But no—life never makes it easy like that.

You’re living on the edge.

You so wish to die. But you haven’t.

Neither of you has.

Your earlier supposition that you could cry at the thought of an angel deserving to die is being proven consistent.

Do you think, though, you’re deserving of such punishment?

If death is supposed to be a punishment, anyway.

(Selah.)

You were sitting at that pew.

Hours ago.

Half of you… wishing to believe.

Half of you, as always, already gone.

And the only question returning to your mind was…

Why have You forsaken me?

I trusted You.

I believed in You.

I defended You.

I placed my faith in You.

So why…

Without apparent remorse…

Without an apparent coming around…

Without an apparent “I’m still here” whisper…

Mercilessly…

When did I fail you?

Was it when I fell in love?

Was it when I failed others as well, for merely

discovering I had my own wills—and they didn’t always align with Yours, nor necessarily please You?

Was it when I was overzealous about Your Word, and so consumed by my hunger for knowledge and wisdom that I might’ve become a little arrogant—and imprudent, like Solomon?

I wonder.

And if any of those—

or all of them—are true…

I would still presume to ask:

Why have You forsaken me, Father?

— Crownless.

It may not seem a nice thing for to say

That the criminals of the future are amongst the youth of today

But this is how it always was and is and it always will be

And this is going way back in time in human history

And this is something on which most would agree

That quite often crime does have its source in poverty

Due to their lack of money that led them to crime

Many young people are serving jail time

If everyone had enough of money it would be true to say

There would be a lot less people in prison today

Poverty in crime has a huge part to play

This is how it is and it was always this way

In the slums of the cities many born to fail

Their journeys in life often leads them to jail.

Francis Duggan

I am a fly

Hitting glass

Over and over

Wondering why

I am a lion with no pride

Please don't judge me

Cos Lord have I tried