Paint Water Press

hey hey! quick little update:

i’ve officially finished posting all the writing from Threshold Consciousness 🎉

(which still feels a little unreal to say)

it’s been really special getting to share that whole arc as it is — messy and personal and everything in between — and i really appreciate everyone who’s been reading along or supporting in any way 💛

if you want a copy of the book, it’s available here: link

next up, i’ll be posting newer writing from the upcoming, currently untitled book two; things are going to get a little more experimental in both subject and structure — a little stranger, a little sharper...

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Poem Information:

“Ouroboros” traces the geometry of mourning — not a straight descent, but a looping, side-winding return. Grief here is a serpent: slow, deliberate, devouring its own trail. The poem’s structure mirrors this motion, tightening and unspooling as time ticks forward in a rhythmic “tick tock,” a pulse that refuses to end. “Undulatory propulsion” suggests order, but the form betrays it, curling into itself until emotion and motion become indistinguishable. The closing “figure eight” seals the loop — grief and love twisting endlessly, infinite and inseparable, a perfect ouroboros of the heart. 

The Weight of Things

A globe that wouldn’t float,

a game that never read,

an apology in fake diamonds,

two rings I never asked for.

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Poem Information:

The Day the Door Flew Open

It was the Day

the door flew open.

I could just never

see You the same.

I searched for You

in crimson rage,

but every shadow

shed His face.

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Poem Information:

Quiet Voices

Cruel.

Selfish.

Vindictive.

Cruel.

Selfish.

Vindictive.

Cause you made me that way.

Cause you “raised” me that way.

Cause you left me—

to ROT—

that way.

And where

did you say this?

Behind closed doors.

Quiet voices.

Like it was a secret.

Cruel.

Selfish.

Vindictive.

Cruel.

Selfish.

Vindictive.

To you—

maybe.

But history

is written

by the winners.

And we don’t

judge soldiers

for what

they do—

in war.

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Poem Information:

Broke

My bed frame broke months ago; I can’t afford to fix it, though.

Wife can’t find work; mine’s on the line, and we’re punished for not being fine.

Our cards are all long overdrawn. The planet choking on Exxon’s spawn.

The whole world seems to be ending; all you hear is what’s still trending.

Some friends face looming eviction; we pray the rest evade conviction.

I can’t afford my smoke addiction. The Middle East trapped in friction.

I— I think we need a break. I think we all need to shut up for just a little bit.

I— I think I need to break. I think I need us all to shut up for just a bit now.

I— I think we need a break. I think we all need just a little break.

I— I think we need a… I think we need…

I—

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Poem Information: