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.

Anamorphosis

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

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

what is real? 👁️

"Anamorphosis" out november 1st

Pretty When I Panic

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