A figure slumped beside the road, a heap of ash and thread. No face, no shape, just heavy cloth, and eyes that looked half-dead. “Who are you?” asked the wrinkled one, with voice both calm and kind. “I’m Sadness,” said the shape, half-formed, “the one all try to bind.” “They turn from me,” the figure said, “as if I bring disease. They smile too wide, deny the weight, pretending th...

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A poetic exploration of a mind poisoned by the omnipresent specters of Donald Trump and E. Musk. This piece hopefully captures the relentless mental siege and especially the detox from Trump's toxic influence. It is a vivid depiction of inner turmoil and the quest to reclaim clarity and freedom.

Each waking thought, his specter reappears,
A gaudy brute who feeds on hate and strife.
He storms ...

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