I woke to a shadow in my room, my own face staring back, twisted with a grin that wasn’t mine. It held my gun, accusing me: “You thought you could embody the essence of wrath’s?” Its words cut deep, naming “friends” I’d killed—lives I’d ended or betrayed in moments I can’t unmake. Jean-Paul Sartre’s words…
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…
As I sit here, pen in hand, my thoughts drift to the electric pulse of the club, a place where the world blurs into a haze of lights and rhythm. It’s a space where I find myself searching, chasing something fleeting—a spark, a connection, a moment of lust that feels like it could ignite my…
Dissected Tread I was bored one day and i was amazed by @jid feature on a track called fried rice by @bas and I thought let me write something over @jid flow just for fun. #LATA Treads : Inspired By :
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…
In the shadowed attic of old grief, I found those frantic, handwritten letters—blasphemies scratched out by a younger me during a season of unrelenting calamity, heart emptied by pain and the lack of any real help. One page, opened on a whim, carried the desperate lie: “cursing God will fill your pocket with freedom and prosperity.” To that broken boy I now whisper back: I would rather let this flesh scatter into dust across the galaxies than trade honest surrender for any freedom or fortune purchased with curses. True liberty is never bought; it is quietly received in the slow trust that even ruin can become a path to something eternal.
Outro And so those letters, once venomous screams into the void, now rest quietly folded back into darkness—not erased, but redeemed by time and a grace I once refused to name. The boy who cursed to fill empty pockets learned, slowly, that true wealth arrives not in coins or curses, but in the patient unravelling of pride, in choosing disintegration over defiance, in letting the galaxies keep what was never mine to bargain away. Today I carry no pockets heavy with false freedom; instead I walk lighter, heart stitched together not by prosperity promised, but by the quiet certainty that surrender was always the richer path. The stars still scatter their dust, and I am content to be among it—neither accuser nor merchant, only a traveller finally at home in the vastness.
I woke to a shadow in my room, my own face staring back, twisted with a grin that wasn’t mine. It held my gun, accusing me: “You thought you could embody the essence of wrath’s?” Its words cut deep, naming “friends” I’d killed—lives I’d ended or betrayed in moments I can’t unmake. Jean-Paul Sartre’s words…
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…
As I sit here, pen in hand, my thoughts drift to the electric pulse of the club, a place where the world blurs into a haze of lights and rhythm. It’s a space where I find myself searching, chasing something fleeting—a spark, a connection, a moment of lust that feels like it could ignite my…
Dissected Tread I was bored one day and i was amazed by @jid feature on a track called fried rice by @bas and I thought let me write something over @jid flow just for fun. #LATA Treads : Inspired By :
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…
Sometimes I think about why the urge to create feels so natural, almost unavoidable, as if it was placed inside us long before we understood what art even was. It makes me wonder if creativity is part of the reason we exist at all—like God invented us so imagination could move through human hands and fill the world with poetry, colour, music, and ideas. That’s why attempts to suppress beauty or expression always feel strange to me. Throughout history people have tried to control it, whether by policing women’s appearance and radiance or by telling artists how far their voices are allowed to travel. Yet beauty behaves like the sunrise—it arrives without permission. Even in places where expression is restricted, creativity still leaks through the cracks. And in places where it isn’t banned, it can still be quietly reshaped, packaged, and branded until art risks losing the soul that made it powerful in the first place. The more I reflect on it, the more it feels like a contradiction: if creativity and beauty are woven into who we are, then no system—political, cultural, or commercial—can truly contain them. What ignites in the human spirit eventually finds a way to shine.
Outro In conclusion, In the relentless grip of strict Sharia interpretations under regimes like those in Afghanistan, Iran, and parts of Saudi Arabia, women’s lives remain profoundly diminished as of March 2026, with systemic discrimination enshrined in law and enforced through violence and fear. In Afghanistan under Taliban rule, over 100 edicts and the 2024 Vice and Virtue Law—bolstered by new 2026 criminal procedures—have banned girls from secondary and higher education, prohibited women from most employment and public spaces without a male guardian (mahram), mandated full-face veiling including burqas, silenced women’s voices in public (even reciting Quran or singing), restricted healthcare access leading to preventable deaths, and criminalized defiance with arbitrary detention, flogging, or worse, amounting to what UN experts and rights groups describe as gender apartheid and persecution. In Iran, the intensified Noor Plan and draconian compulsory hijab laws threaten death penalties, imprisonment, flogging, travel bans, and facial recognition surveillance for non-compliance, perpetuating male guardianship in marriage, divorce, inheritance (where women often receive half), and custody, while exposing women to unchecked domestic violence, honor killings, and impunity for abusers. Even in Saudi Arabia, despite some reforms, lingering guardianship elements and unequal personal status laws continue to limit autonomy in key life decisions. These enforcements—rooted in patriarchal readings of Sharia—strip women of education, economic independence, mobility, bodily autonomy, and justice, fostering isolation, economic disempowerment, heightened gender-based violence, and a denial of the divine radiance and creativity your poetry celebrates, turning what should be uncontainable light into shadowed existence under human-imposed veils of control.
I woke to a shadow in my room, my own face staring back, twisted with a grin that wasn’t mine. It held my gun, accusing me: “You thought you could embody the essence of wrath’s?” Its words cut deep, naming “friends” I’d killed—lives I’d ended or betrayed in moments I can’t unmake. Jean-Paul Sartre’s words…
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…
As I sit here, pen in hand, my thoughts drift to the electric pulse of the club, a place where the world blurs into a haze of lights and rhythm. It’s a space where I find myself searching, chasing something fleeting—a spark, a connection, a moment of lust that feels like it could ignite my…
Dissected Tread I was bored one day and i was amazed by @jid feature on a track called fried rice by @bas and I thought let me write something over @jid flow just for fun. #LATA Treads : Inspired By :
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…
In an age where virtue is performed beneath studio lights and righteousness is rehearsed for applause, the loudest saviors often cast the longest shadows. History has shown how public personas can crumble — from the fall of R. Kelly to the scandal surrounding Jeffrey Epstein — revealing how influence and power can conceal disturbing contradictions, while debates over figures like Alfred Kinsey continue to stir questions about ethics cloaked in intellectual authority. Against that backdrop, your verse confronts the fracture between proclamation and practice, challenging those who claim to rescue society while allegedly embodying the very corruption they condemn, and exposing a deeper fear: that hypocrisy is not an exception to the system, but one of its most carefully protected foundations.
Outro In conclusion, the poem leaves the reader with a powerful warning about the dangers of superficial attraction and unchecked ambition. The woman’s beauty, once dazzling and persuasive, is shown to be temporary, while the consequences of her choices are lasting and inescapable. As she “runs toward the sunset smiling,” the image suggests false triumph—an illusion that will eventually be consumed by time and regret. Ultimately, the poem emphasizes that external charm and material success cannot shield someone from the moral and emotional costs of manipulation, and that true downfall often begins behind a beautiful face.
I woke to a shadow in my room, my own face staring back, twisted with a grin that wasn’t mine. It held my gun, accusing me: “You thought you could embody the essence of wrath’s?” Its words cut deep, naming “friends” I’d killed—lives I’d ended or betrayed in moments I can’t unmake. Jean-Paul Sartre’s words…
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…
As I sit here, pen in hand, my thoughts drift to the electric pulse of the club, a place where the world blurs into a haze of lights and rhythm. It’s a space where I find myself searching, chasing something fleeting—a spark, a connection, a moment of lust that feels like it could ignite my…
Dissected Tread I was bored one day and i was amazed by @jid feature on a track called fried rice by @bas and I thought let me write something over @jid flow just for fun. #LATA Treads : Inspired By :
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…
Intro This poem presents a sharp and cautionary portrait of a woman whose outer beauty conceals inner danger. By comparing her appearance to Stacy Dash, the speaker immediately establishes an image of striking physical attractiveness, only to contrast it with the darker image of a “fallen angel.” Throughout the poem, religious symbolism—halos, horns, heaven—blends with modern references such as Gucci and financial wealth to explore themes of materialism, ego, and deception. The woman is depicted as someone who weaponizes charm and beauty for personal gain, seeking status, money, and security while leaving emotional destruction behind. Ultimately, the poem serves as a warning about being misled by appearances and suggests that vanity and greed carry consequences that time and aging will inevitably expose.
Outro In conclusion, the poem leaves the reader with a powerful warning about the dangers of superficial attraction and unchecked ambition. The woman’s beauty, once dazzling and persuasive, is shown to be temporary, while the consequences of her choices are lasting and inescapable. As she “runs toward the sunset smiling,” the image suggests false triumph—an illusion that will eventually be consumed by time and regret. Ultimately, the poem emphasizes that external charm and material success cannot shield someone from the moral and emotional costs of manipulation, and that true downfall often begins behind a beautiful face.
I woke to a shadow in my room, my own face staring back, twisted with a grin that wasn’t mine. It held my gun, accusing me: “You thought you could embody the essence of wrath’s?” Its words cut deep, naming “friends” I’d killed—lives I’d ended or betrayed in moments I can’t unmake. Jean-Paul Sartre’s words…
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…
As I sit here, pen in hand, my thoughts drift to the electric pulse of the club, a place where the world blurs into a haze of lights and rhythm. It’s a space where I find myself searching, chasing something fleeting—a spark, a connection, a moment of lust that feels like it could ignite my…
Dissected Tread I was bored one day and i was amazed by @jid feature on a track called fried rice by @bas and I thought let me write something over @jid flow just for fun. #LATA Treads : Inspired By :
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…
Intro Purpose and destiny have always guided me, embodied in figures like Tia and Tamara, whose presence kept me steady and focused on achieving higher victories. Their influence lit a path toward growth and fulfillment, shaping my choices and ambitions. Yet, life’s temptations came in the form of vices resembling Samara, pulling me toward darker paths and introducing me to a life steeped in sin. In this delicate balance between guidance and temptation, I discovered the struggle between staying true to my purpose and succumbing to fleeting desires.
Outro Remember, everyone faces temptations and setbacks, but they don’t define who you are or where you’re headed. Stay mindful of your purpose and let it guide your choices, even when distractions or vices try to pull you off course. Treat every mistake as a lesson, not a failure, and use each challenge as an opportunity to grow stronger and wiser. Surround yourself with positivity, protect your peace, and keep moving forward with intention—because true growth and meaningful victories come not from avoiding the falls, but from rising every time, learning, and continuing the journey toward the life you’re meant to live.
