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Some moments in life feel like they’ve been woven into the fabric of the universe, perfectly timed and undeniably sacred. I stumbled into one such moment not long ago, when the winding grapevine of life—those serendipitous threads of chance—led me to her. Her name is Halle, and from the instant I met her, I knew

In my youth, a seed was planted, cold and unrelenting, deep within my heart. It grew as I did, twisting me into a figure I liken to Michael Myers—a silent, unyielding archetype of destruction. I didn’t fight it; I let it consume me. That seed bloomed into a lascivious hunger, a monstrous drive that’s left

I blaze through the streets, my heart pounding, seeking those I once called my best friends—friends who betrayed me, their masks peeling away to reveal fragments of lust, loafing, guilt, and shame. Their deception trapped me in a “happy illusion,” but now, with wrath born from the abyss of my heart, I confront the wreckage

Some moments in life feel like they’ve been woven into the fabric of the universe, perfectly timed and undeniably sacred. I stumbled into one such moment not long ago, when the winding grapevine of life—those serendipitous threads of chance—led me to her. Her name is Halle, and from the instant I met her, I knew

In my youth, a seed was planted, cold and unrelenting, deep within my heart. It grew as I did, twisting me into a figure I liken to Michael Myers—a silent, unyielding archetype of destruction. I didn’t fight it; I let it consume me. That seed bloomed into a lascivious hunger, a monstrous drive that’s left

I blaze through the streets, my heart pounding, seeking those I once called my best friends—friends who betrayed me, their masks peeling away to reveal fragments of lust, loafing, guilt, and shame. Their deception trapped me in a “happy illusion,” but now, with wrath born from the abyss of my heart, I confront the wreckage

Some moments in life feel like they’ve been woven into the fabric of the universe, perfectly timed and undeniably sacred. I stumbled into one such moment not long ago, when the winding grapevine of life—those serendipitous threads of chance—led me to her. Her name is Halle, and from the instant I met her, I knew

In my youth, a seed was planted, cold and unrelenting, deep within my heart. It grew as I did, twisting me into a figure I liken to Michael Myers—a silent, unyielding archetype of destruction. I didn’t fight it; I let it consume me. That seed bloomed into a lascivious hunger, a monstrous drive that’s left

I blaze through the streets, my heart pounding, seeking those I once called my best friends—friends who betrayed me, their masks peeling away to reveal fragments of lust, loafing, guilt, and shame. Their deception trapped me in a “happy illusion,” but now, with wrath born from the abyss of my heart, I confront the wreckage

Some moments in life feel like they’ve been woven into the fabric of the universe, perfectly timed and undeniably sacred. I stumbled into one such moment not long ago, when the winding grapevine of life—those serendipitous threads of chance—led me to her. Her name is Halle, and from the instant I met her, I knew

In my youth, a seed was planted, cold and unrelenting, deep within my heart. It grew as I did, twisting me into a figure I liken to Michael Myers—a silent, unyielding archetype of destruction. I didn’t fight it; I let it consume me. That seed bloomed into a lascivious hunger, a monstrous drive that’s left

I blaze through the streets, my heart pounding, seeking those I once called my best friends—friends who betrayed me, their masks peeling away to reveal fragments of lust, loafing, guilt, and shame. Their deception trapped me in a “happy illusion,” but now, with wrath born from the abyss of my heart, I confront the wreckage

Some moments in life feel like they’ve been woven into the fabric of the universe, perfectly timed and undeniably sacred. I stumbled into one such moment not long ago, when the winding grapevine of life—those serendipitous threads of chance—led me to her. Her name is Halle, and from the instant I met her, I knew

In my youth, a seed was planted, cold and unrelenting, deep within my heart. It grew as I did, twisting me into a figure I liken to Michael Myers—a silent, unyielding archetype of destruction. I didn’t fight it; I let it consume me. That seed bloomed into a lascivious hunger, a monstrous drive that’s left

I blaze through the streets, my heart pounding, seeking those I once called my best friends—friends who betrayed me, their masks peeling away to reveal fragments of lust, loafing, guilt, and shame. Their deception trapped me in a “happy illusion,” but now, with wrath born from the abyss of my heart, I confront the wreckage