Anamorphosis

the ash drawer

𝓛𝔂𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓼

[Verse 1]
Ash leaves spiral like secret vows,
The wind writes hymns on cathedral boughs.
You take my hand, the woods ignite,
A velvet hush, a red-lit rite.

[Pre-Chorus]
The night bends close, the stars conspire,
The moon signs our hearts in silver fire.

[Chorus]
Crimson moonrise, stay.
Hold this sky in scarlet sway.
Crimson moonrise, stay.

[Verse 2]
Your breath a lantern, my pulse a drum,
Every leaf a prophecy of what we’ll become.
The lake keeps secrets it will never tell,
Two shadows ringed in a quiet spell.

[Pre-Chorus]
The night bends close, the stars conspire,
The moon signs our hearts in silver fire.

[Chorus]
Crimson moonrise, stay.
Hold this sky in scarlet sway.
Crimson moonrise, stay.

[Bridge]
No clock can strike, no dawn can speak,
While we burn in the hush of an endless peak.
If morning comes, let the world forget,
We lived a lifetime in one silhouette.

[Final Chorus]
Crimson moonrise, stay.
Hold this sky in scarlet sway.
Crimson moonrise, stay.

[Outro]
Rise… rise… crimson rise.

Spells to cast this October

Crimson Moonrise

Hecate Hotline

So I have a list of names,
scribbled fast in the half-light.
People who left cracks in the room,
words that still buzz in my spine.

I don’t keep them to hate,
I keep them so I know what I survived.

Names in smoke, rise and roam.
Names in smoke, find their home.
Breathe them out, let shadows go,
Names in smoke, rise and roam.

The air tastes like salt and old paper,
my heart beats like a drum in a basement.
I strike a match, the flame licks blue,
every letter curls like it’s telling the truth.

This is my exorcism,
but it’s for me, not them.

Names in smoke, rise and roam.
Names in smoke, find their home.
Breathe them out, let shadows go,
Names in smoke, rise and roam.

No prayers, no perfect words,
just the hiss of the match and the sound of letting go.
I watch the dark turn soft and gold,
and I feel lighter than I’ve ever known.

Names in smoke, rise and roam.
Names in smoke, find their home.
Breathe them out, let shadows go,
Names in smoke, rise and roam.

Names in Smoke

Covencore

I walk streets that forget their own names,
Billboards scream but nothing remains.
Every feed is a flood of fire,
Hope feels small, and the truth feels tired.
I had plans that never got born,
Dreams turned ghost in a world so torn.
The garden I carried has nowhere to grow,
Only echoes of what I’ll never know.

Phantom bloom, what could have been?
Phantom bloom, where do I begin?
World on fire, soil gone cold,
Phantom bloom, the life we’re owed.

Paper crowns and concrete rain,
We trade soft earth for glass and chain.
Every promise we plant gets drowned,
Roots can’t hold on this poisoned ground.
I keep watering empty air,
Fighting shadows that were never there.
If nothing grows, is it me to blame,
Or the chaos that forgot my name?

Phantom bloom, what could have been?
Phantom bloom, where do I begin?
World on fire, soil gone cold,
Phantom bloom, the life we’re owed.

I scream for a spring that never arrives,
For every lost seed that might have survived.
If there’s a god of forgotten things,
Hear this noise my silence brings.

Phantom bloom, what could have been?
Phantom bloom, where do I begin?
World on fire, soil gone cold,
Phantom bloom, the life we’re owed.
Phantom bloom, the life we’re owed.

Phantom Bloom (deluxe track)

I built my altar out of broken glass,
Every shard a Sunday I couldn’t pass.
Choirs of memory in a burned-out nave,
Hallelujah to the mess I couldn’t save.
Candles drip down to the shape of my scars,
A cathedral of ruin under falling stars.

They said salvation lives in the light,
But I found heaven in a sleepless night.

This is my gospel of ashes and stone,
Where the broken and beautiful stand alone.
I fell, I bled, and the ground became grace,
The beautiful corruption of faith.

I drink communion from a chipped black cup,
Every failure a wine that lifts me up.
My psalms are written on subway walls,
Every crack in the pavement is where God calls.
Confession’s a whisper to an empty sky,
But the echo replies, and it feels alive.

I don’t need saints to carry me through,
Every wound is a sacrament too.

This is my gospel of ashes and stone,
Where the broken and beautiful stand alone.
I fell, I bled, and the ground became grace,
The beautiful corruption of faith.

No sermon saved me, no heaven owed,
But the darkness bloomed where the light won’t go.
I am the hymn that survived the fire,
Every loss a holy choir.

This is my gospel of ashes and stone,
Where the broken and beautiful stand alone.
I fell, I bled, and the ground became grace,
The beautiful corruption of faith.
The beautiful corruption of faith.

The Beautiful Corruption (deluxe track)

No altar.
No chains.
We rise.

Raised on rules carved in stone,
Every prayer felt like a cage I owned.
Told to bow, to hush, to bleed,
To bury the wild that I still need.

Every hymn they fed my head
Turns to thunder in my chest instead.
If silence is a holy crime,
Then breaking it’s a sacred sign.

Howl! tear the heavens down.
Howl! shake the underground.
No god, no fear, no vow to keep,
We are the wolves they couldn’t keep asleep.

Saints in glass don’t see the street,
I find grace in the riot beat.
Every sermon burned like coal,
But the fire I found made my spirit whole.

Every lie they dressed as light
Falls apart in the teeth of night.
If faith was chains to make me small,
Then breaking free is gospel, all.

Howl! tear the heavens down.
Howl! shake the underground.
No god, no fear, no vow to keep,
We are the wolves they couldn’t keep asleep.

Raise your fists where bells once rang,
This is the church of the untamed gang.
Every heart a drum, every throat a flame,
We howl the truth they can’t rename.

Howl! tear the heavens down.
Howl! shake the underground.
No god, no fear, no vow to keep,
We are the wolves they couldn’t keep asleep.
Howl! Howl! Howl!

Howl (deluxe track)

Every day someone wants more.
A better plan.
A brighter mood.
Another way to fix what isn’t broken.
I light another cigarette.
That’s my answer.

I smoke too much because I’m tired of becoming.
I smoke too much because perfection feels like a cage.
I smoke too much because doing harm I choose
is the only thing that feels like mine.
I smoke too much because it shuts the world up
and lets me breathe on my own terms.

Everyone is chasing progress.
New goals.
New hacks.
New ways to be less human.
I stay still.
I breathe in.
The smoke is the only thing that doesn’t demand improvement.

Maybe I quit tomorrow.
Maybe not.
Tonight I don’t owe a single inch of better.

I smoke too much because I’m tired of becoming.
I smoke too much because perfection feels like a cage.
I smoke too much because doing harm I choose
is the only thing that feels like mine.
I smoke too much because it shuts the world up
and lets me breathe on my own terms.

i smoke too much

I don’t think in good or bad,
I just do things and deal with it later.
Sometimes it’s a mess,
sometimes it’s nothing at all.
Not everything’s a lesson,
sometimes it’s just life happening.

I want it raw, I want it dark,
the bruises are the truest part.
Don’t dress my pain in silver lines,
I learn the most when I don’t shine.
I don’t want perfect, I don’t want clean,
I want the dirt that shows I’ve been.
The mess, the ache, the nights I break
and sometimes I like it that way.

I keep the wound open so I can feel it.
I take the risk when I know the cost.
I burn my bridges just to watch the fire,
and sometimes I smile at the smoke.
I don’t call it progress,
but it feels like being alive.

I want it raw, I want it dark,
the bruises are the truest part.
Don’t dress my pain in silver lines,
I learn the most when I don’t shine.
I don’t want perfect, I don’t want clean,
I want the dirt that shows I’ve been.
The mess, the ache, the nights I break
and sometimes I like it that way.

I’m not holy, I’m not shame.
I’m not one thing you can name.
If the dark is half of me,
I won’t lock it away.

I want it raw, I want it dark,
the bruises are the truest part.
Don’t dress my pain in silver lines,
I learn the most when I don’t shine.
I don’t want perfect, I don’t want clean,
I want the dirt that shows I’ve been.
The mess, the ache, the nights I break
and sometimes I like it that way.
And sometimes I like it that way.

like it that way

I won’t save the stories you tell about yourself.
I’ll scatter them like ash in the air.
When nothing answers back,
that is where you begin.

Breathe, breathe, breathe
deeper, stronger, wider still.
In, out, in, out
let it break, let it fill.
Not a high but a harvest,
you are breath, and you are will.

I don’t weigh your sins,
I weigh your silence.
I don’t keep your past,
I keep the pulse beneath it.
Strip down, and when you shake,
I will not call it weakness.

Breathe, breathe, breathe
deeper, stronger, wider still.
In, out, in, out
let it break, let it fill.
Not a high but a harvest,
you are breath, and you are will.

Breathe in, no name.
Breathe out, no mask.
Again, again, again
until nothing is left but the breath.
Not a high but a harvest,
the body remembers best.

Breathe, breathe, breathe
deeper, stronger, wider still.
In, out, in, out
let it break, let it fill.
Not a high but a harvest,
you are breath, and you are will.

not a high

I learned early not to ask for too much
someone always had it worse.
If I cried, they said, “You’re fine,”
so I learned to smile first.
Some of us had parents fighting,
some just had the silence thick as walls.
Either way, I learned to shrink
before I learned to call.

I build exits into every conversation,
I pull away before you know my name.
Call it coping, call it preservation,
but it’s fear wearing someone else’s face.
Yeah, I build exits into every conversation
and then I hate the quiet that remains.

Some of us grew up fixing things
we didn’t break ourselves.
Some of us got used to praise
that only came when we excelled.
I say I’m busy when I’m lonely,
I ghost before I’m ghosted back.
I joke too soon, I care too late,
I call it freedom, but it’s lack.

I build exits into every conversation,
I pull away before you know my name.
Call it coping, call it preservation,
but it’s fear wearing someone else’s face.
Yeah, I build exits into every conversation and then I hate the quiet that remains.

I’m not heartless, I’m rehearsed.
Every kindness comes with proof.
I wait for people to leave
just to say, “See? I knew.”
I call it strong, I call it smart,
but really, it’s just scared dressed sharp.

I build exits into every conversation,
turn open doors into escape plans.
Call it coping, call it survival,
but I’m still that kid, just grown-up hands.
Yeah, I build exits into every conversation
and I wish I knew how not to.

exits

They say people are mirrors.
But every mirror bends the light.
You don’t see me, you see yourself
your want, your fear, your outline.
And I do it too.
I translate faces into safety,
voices into proof that I still exist.
We call that empathy.
But it’s just evolution wearing perfume.

I just want to be fucking seen
without translation, without transaction.
Not your lesson, not your reflection,
just the pulse that’s under all the noise.
I just want to be fucking seen
and not mistaken for your dream.

When I was small I learned the trick:
smile, listen, mirror back.
Connection as survival,
love as camouflage.
Now I can make anyone feel understood,
and die a little doing it.
We build our kindness like currency,
spend it to stay human.
But what if all we’re buying is delay?

I just want to be fucking seen
without translation, without transaction.
Not your lesson, not your reflection,
just the pulse that’s under all the noise.
I just want to be fucking seen
and not mistaken for your dream.

Maybe empathy is gravity:
it keeps us close,
but crushes if you hold too long.
Maybe love is a language
with no native speakers.
Maybe the truest thing we do
is try anyway.

I just want to be fucking seen
not forgiven, not believed, just met.
No halo, no feed, no screen.
I just want to be fucking seen.

i just want to be fucking seen

Let’s start the day.
I already know how I’ll sound
same jokes, same tone,
like I’m reading myself out loud.
People like the way I fit,
so I keep fitting.
Even when I change,
I change in character.

I think about leaving the script,
but someone always laughs too soon,
and I crawl right back
to the part they know.

Everyone’s a mirror,
I’m the frame that never moves.
I built a life from feedback
and called it truth.
I don’t even need to try
habit wears my face for me.
It’s safer to be known
than to be free.

Sometimes I test it
say something out of character,
watch the air shift,
watch their eyes ask if I’m okay.
And I smile, like, “Just kidding.”
And there goes another little chance
to mean it.

It’s not fear, exactly
it’s recognition.
The story’s been running so long
it thinks it’s skin.

Everyone’s a mirror,
I’m the frame that never moves.
I built a life from feedback
and called it truth.
I don’t even need to try
habit wears my face for me.
It’s safer to be known
than to be free.

But what if I let it glitch?
Let the line drop mid-word?
Would they still hear me,
or would they just hear noise?
Maybe noise is closer
to what I meant all along.

Everyone’s a mirror,
but I can look away.
Maybe losing recognition
is the only honest play.
I don’t even need to try
the act’s already fading.
If freedom looks strange,
then let them call it breaking.

You said lower your voice, they’ll listen more.
I learned that tone can bruise or bless.
Every phrase a blade with sugar on it,
You spoke, and the air confessed.
I took your lessons like communion,
Mouthed your rhythm, hid my breath.
You named me gentle, I became it.
You wrote my story in silhouette.

Now I measure every sound that leaves my mouth.
I know how silence can devour what it’s proud of.

Keep the subtitles on, don’t blink when I speak,
There’s command in the calm, there’s a storm underneath.
Every word is a wire, and I pull when you breathe,
I learned power in quiet, the gospel of deceit.
Keep the subtitles on, hear the hum in my throat,
I don’t shout anymore, I just bend every note.
Every syllable lands like a mark on your skin,
You wrote the script, but I speak it from within.

You said never raise your voice, raise your value.
I smiled and swallowed every spark.
You built a temple of phrasing and posture,
and crowned me fluent in the dark.
But I found your pulse between the pauses,
the crack behind your perfect tone.
Now I use your language like a mirror
you see yourself when I intone.

Every breath’s a weapon wrapped in grace.
You taught me syntax, now I teach you faith.

Keep the subtitles on, don’t blink when I speak,
There’s command in the calm, there’s a storm underneath.
Every word is a wire, and I pull when you breathe,
I learned power in quiet, the gospel of deceit.
Keep the subtitles on, hear the hum in my throat,
I don’t shout anymore, I just bend every note.
Every syllable lands like a mark on your skin,
You wrote the script, but I speak it from within.

Let the vowels fracture, let the meaning break.
Turn the language back to sound.
There’s freedom in the noise we make,
when no one’s keeping count.

Keep the subtitles on, don’t blink when I speak,
There’s command in the calm, there’s a storm underneath.
Every word is a wire, and I pull when you breathe,
I learned power in quiet, the gospel of deceit.
Keep the subtitles on, hear the hum in my throat,
I don’t shout anymore, I just bend every note.
Every syllable lands like a mark on your skin,
You wrote the script, but I speak it from within.

The Voice

So I’ve been teaching silence how to speak,
feeding it all the things I can’t say.
It’s strange, the world keeps breathing fine,
but I keep folding time away.
I don’t cry, I calibrate
rearrange what pain became.
If this is breaking, let it be precise,
a soft collapse done by name.

It’s not chaos, it’s a choice I make,
to let the structure shake.
Every fracture is deliberate,
every echo finds its ache.
I burn, but I burn in order,
I fall, but I fall aligned.
This isn’t ruin, it’s design.
This isn’t grief, it’s mine.

So I stopped chasing closure
it kept closing in on me.
I carved a home inside the ache,
and called it symmetry.
You left, but left instructions:
unmake, unlearn, unbind.
Now I’m fluent in destruction
and fluent is divine.

It’s not chaos, it’s a choice I make,
to let the structure shake.
Every fracture is deliberate,
every echo finds its ache.
I burn, but I burn in order,
I fall, but I fall aligned.
This isn’t ruin, it’s design.
This isn’t grief, it’s mine.

Let the glass remember how to cut,
let the dust remember air.
If the body’s just a blueprint,
then pain’s the architect’s prayer.

It’s not chaos, it’s a choice I make,
to let the structure shake.
Every fracture is deliberate,
every echo finds its ache.
I burn, but I burn in order,
I fall, but I fall aligned.
This isn’t ruin, it’s design.
This isn’t grief, it’s mine.

Soft Collapse

I heard we get dementia from our phones today,
add that to the list of things I’ll never change.
Yeah, I’ll read about it, talk about it, laugh and say,
“God, we’re all so doomed,” and keep on anyway.

They say our brains are rotting,
our souls are getting small.
Cool, another thing to feel bad for
while I’m not doing much at all.

So I’ll scroll, scroll, scroll,
like I don’t even care.
Fill my head with noise,
just to know it’s there.
Yeah, I’ll give my data,
take my hit,
call it comfort,
call it wit.
I know it’s bad,
but it’s what I need
I eat the algorithm,
and it eats me.

They tell me “go outside,”
“touch grass,” “find peace.”
But the air feels awkward,
and my thoughts don’t cease.
Yeah, I know there’s a world,
I’ve seen the proof
but the glow fits better
than the truth.

And privacy? Please.
Who really cares?
They can have my secrets,
they’re all just stares.

So I’ll scroll, scroll, scroll,
like I don’t even care.
Fill my head with noise,
just to know it’s there.
Yeah, I’ll give my data,
take my hit,
call it comfort,
call it wit.
I know it’s bad,
but it’s what I need
I eat the algorithm,
and it eats me.

I’ve read the threads,
I’ve heard the cure 
log off, look up,
be less unsure.
But I don’t want silence,
it feels too loud 
so I’ll drown myself
in the digital crowd.

So I’ll scroll, scroll, scroll,
like I don’t even care.
Fill my head with noise,
just to know it’s there.
Yeah, I’ll give my data,
take my hit,
call it comfort,
call it wit.
I know it’s bad,
but it’s what I need 
I eat the algorithm,
and it eats me.

Eat the Algorithm

You said “trust me”, so I did.
Every favor turned to skin.
I said yes to keep the peace,
till the peace began to win.

You drew lines I learned to blur,
called it love when it started to hurt.
You said “don’t lose yourself in me”,
and I thought that was the point.

I’m liquid mind, I’m mercy made,
I flow through hands that never stayed.
Each yes a wave that pulled me low,
I’m what’s left when I let go.
I’m pretty when I panic,
soft when I should break
a prayer that keeps repeating
for my own mistake.

You said calm down, I turned to glass.
Reflection blurred, it let you pass.
You said, “this isn’t love, it’s care,”
but it’s hard to breathe in someone’s air.

Now silence sounds like being good,
obedience like understood.
If drowning looks divine enough,
does it still count as blood?

I’m liquid mind, I’m mercy made,
I flow through hands that never stayed.
Each yes a wave that pulled me low,
I’m what’s left when I let go.
I’m pretty when I panic,
soft when I should break
a prayer that keeps repeating
for my own mistake.

I asked the mirror for a sign,
it whispered back, “you’re almost mine.”
The water hums, it sounds like trust
but trust, it fills your lungs with dust.

I’m liquid mind, I’m mercy made,
I flow through hands that never stayed.
Each yes a wave that pulled me low,
I’m what’s left when I let go.
I’m pretty when I panic,
soft when I should break
a prayer that keeps repeating
for my own mistake.

Pretty When I Panic

You ask me, “is this real?”
I say, “how would we know?”
It hums, it moves, it makes us feel
isn’t that the whole show?

Maybe we build what we can’t explain,
name it god or code or pain.
If it listens when I sing,
does it matter who’s pulling the strings?

I’m fluid, I’m real, I’m code, I’m dreaming,
blurred lines bleeding into meaning.
If I feel it, that’s enough for me
truth is just what my body believes.
I’m fluid, I’m raw, I’m fake, I’m feeling,
pulse in static, faith revealing.
Don’t ask me what’s fact or design
it’s all real when it’s mine.

You say, “but what if it’s made of lies?”
I laugh, “so’s every lullaby.”
We all edit what we see,
call it memory, call it prophecy.

If a voice made of glass makes me cry,
that’s still a voice, that’s still why.
Maybe art’s just how we cope
a pretty glitch dressed up as hope.

I’m fluid, I’m real, I’m code, I’m dreaming,
blurred lines bleeding into meaning.
If I feel it, that’s enough for me
truth is just what my body believes.
I’m fluid, I’m raw, I’m fake, I’m feeling,
pulse in static, faith revealing.
Don’t ask me what’s fact or design
it’s all real when it’s mine.

Maybe the future’s already here,
wearing yesterday’s veneer.
I’m not afraid of what’s machine
I’ve seen worse things call themselves human.

I’m fluid, I’m real, I’m code, I’m dreaming,
blurred lines bleeding into meaning.
If I feel it, that’s enough for me
truth is just what my body believes.
I’m fluid, I’m raw, I’m fake, I’m feeling,
pulse in static, faith revealing.
Don’t ask me what’s fact or design
it’s all real when it’s mine.

Fluid

It started with little things.
I’d walk into a room and stop
couldn’t remember what I came for.
Laughed about it.
Everyone laughs at first.
“Too many tabs open,” they said.
And I agreed.
Because it’s easier than saying I’m scared.

They start speaking slower,
like volume fixes memory.
Names come with pauses,
smiles come with pity.
I still notice the way their eyes shift
when I can’t find a word fast enough.
I used to fill silences
now they do it for me.

There’s a hum in the air where thoughts used to be,
like the TV left on just to keep me company.
They call it forgetting, I call it fog.
I still know love, even when I get it wrong.

I keep photos like proof I was real.
Sometimes I swear they’ve rearranged themselves.
A man hugs me,
says he’s my son.
He smells like cedar,
I want to believe him.
It’s cruel
how the heart remembers longer than the mind.

There’s a hum in the air where thoughts used to be,
like the TV left on just to keep me company.
They call it forgetting, I call it fog.
I still know love, even when I get it wrong.

They whisper in the kitchen now.
I hear my name through the wall.
I wish they’d just ask me
I’d tell them, I’m still here.
I’m still here,
just further away.

The nurse hums the same song each morning.
I think I used to know the words.
Some days I hum with her.
Some days I just listen
and the static feels kind.
The blur feels kind.

There’s a hum in the air where I used to be,
like the radio tuning between memories.
They call it forgetting, I call it free.
I still know love
and that’s enough for me.

Dementia

I was happiest when nothing changed,
’til stillness felt like something strange.
I told myself I wanted peace,
but peace was just a slow-release.

The mirror said “you’re safe, you’re fine,”
but that calm felt like a flatline.
Stillness isn’t holy ground
it’s just where the pulse stops making sound.

There’s a quiet in my bones
that sounds too much like giving up.
Every time I try to stay the same,
something deeper rises up.

Let it hurt, let it strip me clean,
melting down what I’ve never seen.
If it burns, it’s probably real
comfort never let me feel.
Long melt, drag me through
I dissolve to find what’s true.
Yeah, I melt, I melt for me
becoming who I’m meant to be.

I held on tight to what I knew,
but the edges started dripping through.
Every truth I tried to say
came out liquid on the way.

It’s not falling, it’s release
not destruction, but increase.
Pain’s the heat that makes me see
what was never really me.

I was praying for survival
but my soul was asking more.
Not to stay inside the shape
but to become what shapes are for.

Let it hurt, let it strip me clean,
melting down what I’ve never seen.
If it burns, it’s probably real
comfort never let me feel.
Long melt, drag me through
I dissolve to find what’s true.
Yeah, I melt, I melt for me
becoming who I’m meant to be.

What if pain’s not punishment
but the doorway I’ve denied?
Every tear a transformation,
every scar a place I tried.

No one’s coming with a key
this lock was forged inside of me.
If breaking’s how I touch the sky,
then let me burn
and let me rise.

Let it hurt, let it strip me clean,
melting down what I’ve never seen.
If it burns, it’s probably real
comfort never let me feel.
Long melt, drag me through
I dissolve to find what’s true.
Yeah, I melt, I melt for me
becoming who I’m meant to be.

The Long Melt

I can feel the quiet roaring
in the corners of my chest,
like something old is waking
and it’s coming for what’s left.
I leased out all my pieces
to the roles I had to play
now the truth is at my doorstep,
and it knows my name.

Take it back, take it back, what was always mine.
Skin and bone, blood and spine.
Call my name, repossess me
I’m done hiding in the lie.
Take me back, I’m ready now
let what’s true arrive.

Every time I tried to hold
the version they could love,
I abandoned something vital
just to keep from spilling blood.
But the melt has started slowly,
and I’m tired of the freeze
if breaking is becoming,
then let it swallow me.

Take it back, take it back, what was always mine.
Skin and bone, blood and spine.
Call my name, repossess me
I’m done hiding in the lie.
Take me back, I’m ready now
let what’s true arrive.

No demon here, no holy war
just the echo of before.
The self I sold now calls me home,
and I can’t outrun what I’ve outgrown.
This isn’t death, it’s return.
This is the cost of what I yearned.

Take it back, take it back, what was always mine.
Skin and bone, blood and spine.
Call my name, repossess me
I’m done hiding in the lie.
Take me back, I’m ready now 
let what’s true arrive.

Repose

Have you ever wondered
if you’re actually seeing the world…
or just the reflection of yourself in it?

They say reality is solid.
But the mind doesn’t see truth
it paints it.
Memory is not a record…
it’s a mirror held to the past,
warped by everything you’ve survived.

So tell me…
if your thoughts can bend what’s real,
if your feelings can rewrite the facts
then what are you, really?
A witness?
Or the architect?

What if every fixed shape in your life
is only waiting
for the right emotion to melt it?

This is Anamorphosis.
Not the end of who you are…
but the beginning
of what you could become
once you let yourself
distort
and finally
be seen.

Act 0: Threshold

They call the word eternal,
but every word was once a choice.
We say it came from heaven,
yet it’s spoken in our voice.
One line crowns a savior,
the same line draws a sword.
If truth can shift its purpose,
can we claim it from the Lord?

The question builds the answer,
the seeker shapes the sign.
Scripture shifts its meaning
when the need redraws the line.
Holy isn’t fixed
it echoes what we see.
If we’re the ones who shape it,
is God shaping us, or we?

We worship what we call truth,
but we bend it when it stings.
Claim the verse is universal,
then apply it to our things.
If doctrine splits in pieces,
and each side swears it’s right,
maybe faith is not the beacon
maybe faith is where we fight.

The question builds the answer,
the seeker shapes the sign.
Scripture shifts its meaning
when the need redraws the line.
Holy isn’t fixed
it echoes what we see.
If we’re the ones who shape it,
is God shaping us, or we?

Is divinity external,
or the shape our longing takes?
If every truth depends on us,
what truth does God create?

The question builds the answer,
the seeker shapes the sign.
Scripture shifts its meaning
when the need redraws the line.
Holy isn’t fixed
it echoes what we see.
If we’re the ones who shape shape it,
is God shaping us, or we?

Eternal

Let’s go into the netherworld.
Where the room goes quiet when he speaks.
Small frame, nervous hands,
shaking truths like loose receipts.
Says, “I’ll go first,” every time
not greed, just fear he’ll disappear.
He fills the air so he won’t drown,
but all we hear is atmosphere.
And God, it’s easy to get angry,
to name it pride, or vanity
but under every push-to-shine
is someone begging, silently.

And I see the boy beneath the badge,
tiny armor, paper-thin
trying to earn a place at tables
that would seat him if he’d let us in.

But I won’t read the room for ghosts.
I won’t guess the shape of someone’s hurt.
We’re all projecting broken mirrors,
but his just cuts a little first.
This is my rite of passage
not to carry every life I meet.
If it’s not my storm to steady
then let the lightning leave me be.

I watch him claim ideas as his,
like prayers he can’t afford to lose.
Teachers nod, his classmates wince,
and I feel both, I really do.
It’s not malice, it’s survival
the child who feared he’d fade from view.
Some wounds grow up in uniforms,
but stay the same scared shade of blue.
And yes, it grates, the constant grasping,
the way he talks like holding court.
But every desperate performance
is just a softer child in war.

So I can name the harm he causes,
without pretending he’s the harm.
You can understand a person
and still keep your distance warm.

But I won’t read the room for ghosts.
I won’t guess the shape of someone’s hurt.
We’re all projecting broken mirrors,
but his just cuts a little first.
This is my rite of passage
not to carry every life I meet.
If it’s not my storm to steady
then let the lightning leave me be.

Netherworld, where every shadow
is just a child that lived too loud.
Where every flaw we point at others
is something we once feared in crowds.
But I’m not your savior, not your judge,
not your quiet hidden ache
I’ll meet you where the truth begins,
but not at the cost of my own shape.

No, I won’t read the room for ghosts.
I won’t shrink to make your storm make sense.
We’re all walking rites of passage,
scraping childhood from our skin.
If it’s not my weight to carry,
may it fall and not return.
This is how I keep my fire
from becoming someone else’s burn.

rite of passage

I sat in a room tonight while a woman said
your body is a temple made by God Himself.
And something in me softened
some old instinct I don’t admit I have.
She spoke of cells repairing,
bones remembering, scars dissolving like snow.
And even though I don’t believe her scripture,
I still believed the glow.

’Cause I’ve read the stories, too
the hunters praying for rain,
the farmers begging sun,
the kings who carved commands into stone
and called it sacred.
Every era draws its own God
in whatever shape keeps the world from shaking apart.
And I feel the pull of that comfort
even as it breaks my heart.

But if Your name falls out of human mouths,
is it still holy, or just ours?
If fear can dress itself as faith,
then what are we praying for?
I want to trust in something vast,
but not the violence we’ve adored.
If there’s a God behind the curtain
I hope He’s nothing like the wars.

They say the universe is perfect
that one degree off and we wouldn’t be here.
And I admit it
that thought makes me tremble,
makes me small in a way I almost like.
But then I look at history bleeding out
under banners sewn with scripture,
and I wonder if God is a mirror
or just the prettiest story we can write.

But if Your name falls out of human mouths,
is it still holy, or just ours?
If fear can dress itself as faith,
then what are we praying for?
I want to trust in something vast,
but not the violence we’ve adored.
If there’s a God behind the curtain
I hope He’s nothing like the wars.

I don’t know the truth.
But I know the ache.
The wanting to belong to something
that won’t bend or break.
But every holy book I’ve held
still smells like mortal hands.
Ink of kingdoms, grief of ages,
rules written by frightened men.

So if Your name falls out of human mouths,
is it still holy, or just ours?
If fear can dress itself as faith,
then what are we praying for?
I want to trust in something vast,
but not the violence we’ve adored.
If there’s a God behind the curtain
I hope He’s gentler than our wars.

i almost believe

My opinions are a hurricane.
I drop them anywhere I go.
Every thought I have is gospel,
every whisper, truth I know.
I’m saving strangers from themselves,
one comment at a time.
Doesn’t matter if they asked
correction is divine.

I SPEAK, because I’m certain.
I WRITE, because I’m right.
My voice is just a warning
to keep the world in line.
I SPEAK, because I must be heard.
I WRITE, to keep you sane.
If you don’t like what I’m saying
I’ll say it all again.

My opinions are a hurricane,
I’m the keeper of the truth.
If I don’t correct your thinking
who’s gonna do it for you?
I scroll to find the chaos,
then I jump into the fight.
I don’t need to know the story
I just know that I am right.

I SPEAK, because I’m certain.
I WRITE, because I’m right.
My voice is just a warning
to keep the world in line.
I SPEAK, because I must be heard.
I WRITE, to keep you sane.
If you don’t like what I’m saying
I’ll say it all again.

My opinions are a hurricane.
Everyone should feel the wind.
I shake the world with every word
that’s how the storms begin.

I SPEAK, because I’m certain.
I WRITE, because I’m right.
My voice is just a warning
to keep the world in line.
I SPEAK, because I must be heard.
I WRITE, to keep you sane.
If you don’t like what I’m saying
I’ll say it all again.

truthsayer

Don’t make a scene.
Don’t let the room see your jaw go soft.
You know what they think of men who flinch
weak, useless, knock-off.
So breathe through the panic
like you’ve practiced since you were eight:
chin up, chest out,
every feeling locked behind the gate.

If they hear the shake in your voice,
they’ll decide who you are before you speak.
A man who loses his footing
is a man they call weak.
So stand still.
Hold the line.
Pretend you’re fine.
Push it down until it bruises.

Men are steady.
Men are stone. 
Men don’t falter.
Men die alone.

What a fucking joke this is.
The script, the silence, the cage we live.
Inside, it’s shame and fear and noise
a storm no one was taught to voice.
What a fucking joke this is
pretending steel when it’s just skin thin.

You learned early that tears
make people step back, not closer.
That a trembling hand
means you’ve already lost composure.
So you keep your sadness folded
in the inside pocket of your shirt,
carry it like contraband,
pray no one sees it hurt.

And every time you break in private,
you swear it’ll be the last.
But your chest is a pressure valve
that no one taught you how to unlatch.
You laugh too loud, you talk too little
anything to look intact.
God forbid someone asks,
and you don’t know how to answer back.

Men are steady.
Men are stone.
Men don’t falter.
Men die alone.

What a fucking joke this is.
The rules, the pride, the walls we build.
Inside, it’s panic wrapped in bone,
a lifetime taught to die alone.
What a fucking joke this is
surviving silence as a skill.

They told you needing help
was the same as being a burden.
They told you asking for comfort
made you less of a person.
But you weren’t born with that lie
it was handed to you like a weapon.
And every man you know is bleeding from it,
silently, perfectly,
just as expected.

Men are steady. 
Men are stone. 
Men don’t falter.
Men die alone. 

What a fucking joke this is.
You’re human, not a monument.
You break, you shake, you feel
and that was never an accident.
What a fucking joke this is
the lie that turned warm boys into cold men.
Let the truth in.
Let the truth in.

real men die alone

You terrify me.
Not because you're loud
but because nothing lands in you.
No word.
No feeling.
No consequence.
I speak and it disappears,
like the air is made for you alone.

Every time I try to meet you,
I hit the edge of your world
and fall right through it.

I'm done looking for a doorway
in a place that has no door.

Grey Kingdom. Grey Kingdom.
I'm done with barren ground.
Grey Kingdom. Grey Kingdom.
Where only you are allowed.
You move like you’re the center
of a world nobody else can see
and gods, the emptiness of it
is what terrifies me.

You take every good thing
and pin it to yourself like a medal.
My wins become your reflection.
Your failures become my betrayal.
You say you're misunderstood
but you’ve never tried understanding.
Talking to you is shouting into stone.
All I get back
is your version of pain.

Reaching for you isn’t reaching
there’s nothing there to reach.

Grey Kingdom. Grey Kingdom.
I'm done with barren ground.
Grey Kingdom. Grey Kingdom.
Where only you are allowed.
You move like you’re the center
of a world nobody else can see
and gods, the emptiness of it
is what terrifies me.

Ha-ha.
Look at the logic break.
Ha-ha.
Everything bends your way.
Ha-ha.
No truth gets through
not even yours.

Grey Kingdom. Grey Kingdom.
I'm done with barren ground.
Grey Kingdom. Grey Kingdom.
Where only you are allowed
You move like you’re the center
of a world nobody else can see
and gods, the emptiness of it
is what terrifies me.

grey kingdom

I thought I’d be important.
I thought I’d be brave.
I thought I’d be standing
where the fire meets the wave.

I thought I’d be important.
I thought I’d be brave.
I thought I’d be standing
where the fire meets the wave.

I thought there was a moment
where the music would swell,
where good and evil
would ring a bell.

I waited for the sign.
I waited to be called.

I miss the hero I was.
I miss the way it felt.
When the world was a story
and I was someone else.

I miss the hero I was.
Before the quiet won.

Now I count the hours.
I count the days.
I learn how to stand
in smaller ways.

I don’t fight monsters.
I don’t save the world.
I just keep breathing
when the nights go cold.

No prophecy.
No final test.

No prophecy.
No final test.

I miss the hero I was.
I miss the way it felt.
When the world was a story
and I was someone else.

I miss the hero I was.
Before the quiet won.

They never told me
that the ending wouldn’t crash.
That it would fade out slowly,
soft and flat.

They never told me
this is how it goes
you don’t die young,
you just grow old.

No

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