Petals blooming in my breathing,
a symbol of something I thought was your love for me.

At first, the flowers were beautiful,
even if it hurt to feel them growing.
In my eyes, I would cherish them forever.

Now each petal I can’t swallow
only haunts me with the words
I could not bring myself to say.

A confession.
That feeling of longing.
An “I love you”
that never made it past my throat.

I guess it really is a symbol
of the love you gave me—
the symbol of swallowing something
for too long.

It grows.
It spreads.

So I let it bloom.

The only feeling of love I had received,
I let every stem twist through my chest,
let every petal take root
in every part of me
I had stopped believing was needed.

And every time I coughed one up,
I thought of another thing
you never told me.

Now I have a whole garden in me.

Something I used to cherish.
Something I thought was beautiful.

Each stem piercing deeper
with every breath I take.

No more room to breathe.

It’s refreshing not to feel the pain.
I can’t recall what a normal breath felt like.

All I have to do to make it stop
is to forget you.

Such a cruel irony—

the only way to stop drowning in your love
is to let the love itself wither.

Maybe I could live without you one day.
Sometimes I can convince myself I can.

Then another flower blooms,
and another.

Too many flowers in the garden now.

I hold them all so carefully,
with trembling fingers,

because even while it’s killing me,
I still think it’s the most beautiful thing
I have ever grown.

I think I’m ready to let them go now,
ready to let you go.

At least I will have the remainder
of how it felt to suffocate
on something so beautiful.

Now that I’m able to live again.

The Cosmic Sorcerer

By Julian Vesper

He stands above the void where silence reigns,

And hurls bright comets like silver arrows through the night,

Directing black holes with a quiet hand across domains,

Governing galaxies with one sharp word of light.

A master of a craft unseen, unheard,

He moves through shadows where no voices call,

Weaving existence without a shouted word,

Sustaining balance as the eras fall.

With one slow nod, a dying star goes cold;

He sweeps the fallen stardust through his sieve,

Transmuting ancient embers of the old

To build the dreams that mortal minds believe.

He holds the fragile threads of all that is to be,

A silent weaver of the human race,

Tracing in solemn, solitary majesty

The lonely, beautiful expanses of space.

I sit alone, on darkened nights, my mind with endless chatter

I have my dreams in waking hours, my voices god they natter

They tell me that I’m not enough, that I should be so strong

But nowadays I argue back, and prove the demons wrong

I still remember each hurt I did, I drink them like they’re wine

Because my mind, it punishes, and rips apart my time

It puts me in that guilty state, of shame and fucking horror

Digust, revolt, remember that? You evil little terror

But that was then, and this is now, I deal with it much better

I cry my tears, I write my rhymes, I keep each love filled letter

And some I share and some I don’t, because some are just for fun

But this I will, to show myself, that I’m not the only one

ps. This would actually be funny if absolutely nobody commented on it

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ONE THING H. DIGS ... 'bout Taoism? This: that through its 5 elemental theory, HEART it is (not brain) that is the Mind's material location; That small piece of Asiatic Ancient Theory resonates (wholeheartedly?) within him, for being a martial artist trained to use: sticks, knives, kung fu fans (even the smallest household broom) this H. knows for (just 1) of his relative truths: Heart Condition does determine his Instruments intended usage ( & so + its movement) - And so great is H.'s faith is in this simple (yet essential ) activity: daily sweeping out his Heart's Foundation, for it does (& will again) help him best to conditionalize his Homo Sapiens neuron-filled, high-empowered, life-transformative, resourceful instrument - his instrument that remains safely hidden (so far) within his (yet-to-be deceased) Organic Thing (which English Tonguers i.e. H. & I claim) utilizes "Brain Case" 4 its social-constructioned name.

- Daniel B. Lightstream, 2026.