THE CLOSET MYSTIC

January 21st, 2026

I stared at the cliff’s edge,

and told myself

I was only going to dip

my feet in—

so tell me:

how am I up to my neck

in absinthe?

lord, help me:

I’m drowning

in obsession,

this liquid spirit,

like the Styx,

my psychic murk,

so acidic—

it burns me, it burns—

so why

do I crave it?

the self betrayal

of the poet.

radio silence,

the artist

gone quiet.

shut your mouth,

keep the food out,

but your words

in.

how quickly

did I jump ship—

haven’t written

a poem

in months.

did i dry the well?

it’s not hard

to tell:

gaunt eyes,

hollow shell.

I stopped looking

to the future.

instead of planning

my career,

fawning

over that

bright star,

I thought more

of how to fit

400 calories

into a single dinner.

a blessing

to choose

to eat less.

a blessing

to fret

over weighing more.

a blessing

to know this folly.

i will fall

into this trap again:

still,

i consider myself blessed.

I’m not a fraud.

I never lied once—

I fell, & fell hard,

but never hid the blood.

I saw the sickness

spreading through my marrow–

the blackest ink

in the most pristine waters—

I worked so hard,

& guarded this meadow

of my own making—

I tended to the Earth

& nursed her back to health,

so tell me: for bringing ruin

to my Eden,

how can I ever

forgive myself?

tonight,

i say enough.

binge, restrict:

the coin of self-loathing.

but my life is bigger

than being bigger.

isn’t that self love?

yea—

tonight, i say enough.

i

am enough.
January 15th, 2026

In reckless adolescence,

its mayhem

and destructive wake,

I was free.

I ask you:

What is the price of a life

well-lived?

Adulthood: must it mean confinement?
January 15th, 2026

you are the hymn

that draws the grief from my ribs—

you are the baptism

the pious call “sin.”

you pull me under,

I drown in your depth—

I emerge pristine,

reborn,

cleansed.
January 15th, 2026

absolute freedom,

it used to be the goal—

until I learned,

having nothing to be tethered to

is its own kind of hell,

its own kind of jail.
January 14th, 2026

and when you hold my hand,

my heart speeds up,

but time slows down.

your head tilts, laid on my chest,

& the turning of the earth: it hiccups,

if only for a moment.

and your laugh—

oh, your laugh,

I can only die happy

if that sound

were my last.

this love: it is not quiet.

it burns in my gut,

it needs to be sung—

to shout, to scream, to holler,

“Look, world— it is her. She

is the one—

the one

who is a full Moon

on the darkest night—

or, no— she is the Sun,

and I the pallid Moon,

and if I shine,

it is but her

borrowed light.”
January 2nd, 2026

And I think poetry is our remedy,

for bottomless is the modern appetite

which wants everything, all at once.

a poem demands:

chew,

taste,

swallow,

savor— slowly.

there it is:

that fullness, so elusive.

a novel

in each word;

you jump in,

expecting a puddle,

but fall in,

swimming in hidden depths.
January 2nd, 2026

Break your life into verse.

To run on this path,

or to stop; savor,

inhale—

step,

stop—

gravel crunch, silence,

eyes closed, heart open,

holding the Sun’s hands.

step again, stop.

there is a hidden movement.

a leap in every pause.

such speed in stillness.

such stagnancy in those who cannot stop moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving—

lips move,

but frozen on the same word.

find the symphony.

make a hymn of the cacophony.

rescue each layer from its doom:

to be swallowed by the whole.

do not let life be noise:

let it be music,

and please:

stop, and listen.
January 2nd, 2026

Can you hear me here? Is there anyone there? Am I mute or are the ears of the world deaf?

Have you awoken yet to the nature of nature? Have you realized what it means to be impoverished? Have you seen the desolate nature of riches? Have you seen the wealth of the poor?

Have you seen the gold stored in the hearts of the wise? Have you seen the coal hoarded by tycoons?

Have you heard the message only audible in silence? Have you heard the music that the ears cannot sense? Have you listened to the oracle who whispers to your heart?

There is a sweetness unknown to the tongue. There is a warmth that only hugs the openness of your heart.

Have you met the cancer of aliveness, the panacea of your passing? Have you relinquished the illusion? Have you blinked, blinked, blinked awake? Does the light burn? Have you closed your eyes again, tried to forget the light?

Won’t you let your eyes adjust? Won’t you forget the darkness from which you were born? Won’t you stop groping the walls of this labyrinth with your hands, hoping to find the way? Won’t you instead open your eyes and see the gilded thread?

Have you seen the wisdom in the water? Have you let the ice of your being melt into the river? Have you let the river take you, have you become the river that does the taking? Have you surrendered the fear of surrender, have you experienced the ecstasy of free-fall, that highest terror and most secret desire of every heart?

Have you placed your feet in the water, let the moon pull the ocean to and fro in greeting? Have you seen the message inherent in every particle? Have you let die the illusion of deadness, have you surrendered the hubris? Have you seen that you are not the center of aliveness, but an extension of it, that aliveness begins with the inanimate that is not and never was inanimate?

Have you come to know that you are only as alive as you see the universe? How alive is it? How alive are you?

Do you not understand the statement in these questions? Do you know the question inherent in every statement, the ignorance of confidence? State nothing. Question everything. It is impossible to wonder without growing. The moment you are confident of your world is the moment its walls are built, you caged in.

Burst those walls down with questions. How destructive it is to be curious— what freedom.
the former, broken into verse

December 24th, 2025

can you feel the flame dying?

the celestial hearth we orbit dims.

premonitions of heat death:

you inch farther

and farther

away.

our gravity: not enough.

this dance, it comes to an end—

you are drawn in by another,

by a pull

far greater.

goodbye old friend, goodbye.

i pray this star

is warm enough for me alone—

but my oceans

already turn to ice.

my glacial heart

slows its beating.

heat death, heat death, heat death:

again, the premonition.

prescient vision:

it sees not the future, but the now

too clearly.

my love is its own cipher:

the very thing which bitters our parting,

makes shouts of whispers,

cymbals of subtlety.

and what is heartbreak but this:

for the heart

to still hold someone near

who is not near

to be held?

the heart understands not

the language of miles—

to it, you are still close.

it reaches out, sure of your embrace—

it recoils at the thin air.

my love:

where are you?
December 24th, 2025

can you feel the flame dying? this star of ours, the celestial hearth we orbit, she dims.

premonitions of heat death — you inch farther and farther away. our gravity is not enough. this dance comes to an end— you are drawn in by another, a gravity far greater than mine.

goodbye old friend, goodbye.

i pray this star is warm enough for me alone, but my oceans already turn to ice. my glacial heart slows its beating— heat death, heat death, heat death— again, the premonition.

prescient vision, it sees not the future, but the now too clearly. my love is its own cipher: the very thing which bitters our parting makes shouts of whispers, cymbals of subtlety. they broke my heart long before you spoke the words.

and what is heartbreak but this: to hold someone near to your heart still who has long departed? the heart speaks not in terms of physical distance— to it, you are still close. it reaches out, expecting your embrace— it recoils at the thin air. it reaches again, cannot fathom your absence.

where are you, my love?

the former, broken into verse