ShrtStry

Father Death, I stand here again, my back to the living world, facing your crimson eye that bleeds across the widow-water.

This ocean, this womb of night, swallows my screams like sugar. I am alone as ever a man can be, dark-shouldered against the darker sky.

The moon, that red and terrible god, burns away my skin, my sins, leaving only bone-truth behind. How holy this drowning feels.

I have come to this shore to be cleansed, where waves speak in tongues and madness is just another word for seeing too clearly in the dark.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

I’m not there yet but I can feel the energy mounting the earth shivers, our bones hum with a distant noise, the history of our lives folding, breaking open, spilling their secrets to the wind. I hear it. The low, throaty laughter of every story. The unbinding. The call to scatter like ashes, to let go, to become nothing and everything at once. But I stay. Not caged, no longer bound yet tied by something deeper, older, a tether wound tight around the marrow of me. I linger like a craving stubborn, like a gnarled old tree, weathered by the thousand cuts of storms that have come and gone, roots tangled in the soil’s oldest whispers. I am no longer the prey. I am the hunt. I’ve always been wild, a thing of claw and howl, the moon’s sharp edge against the sky. And still, I crave rest, But there is no sleep for the marked, no peace for the watchers at the brink. So I act on ritual this ghostly remembrance under flickering light, a sacrament carved from habit, from silence, from the scent of iron and porcelain. I press my palms against the cold walls of my past, recite my own name like a spell until the echoes answer. The edges of existence crack open, and I slip through, not fading, not dissolving, but standing firm, a sigil etched in flesh. Not becoming, but here. Alive. Undeniable.

by Sebastian J. Blanchette

They tell you it’s right or wrong, this life, like some two-bit morality play. But it ain’t. We’re wrong more than right, that’s the goddamn truth of it. I know I am. Imperfect. Every goddamn way.

They chase the cash, pile it high, thinking more money means simpler problems. Bullshit. The more they get, the dimmer their light, like a dying bulb in a cheap motel room. I’ve felt that pull myself, the corruption, the obsession, gnawing at the edges of my soul.

But joy…real joy ain’t found in a bank statement. It’s down there in the darkness, in the silence of an empty home, when the thoughts come crashing down, and you’re face to face with yourself, alone. That’s where the light flickers, a tiny goddamn spark you gotta light from within. That faith, that thing you choose to walk with… maybe it comes from you, from every goddamn one of you reading this, sharing this miserable ride.

They talk about love, money, pain, fame… noise. It’s all about time. The time we spend, the time we give, the time that slips through our fingers like sand through a broken hourglass. Time gives us everything, and just as quick, snatches it away. Leaves you standing there, empty handed, wondering what the hell it was all about. So you pour another drink. And keep on stumbling.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

A warm mug, the lights blink on a tree I didn’t want to put up. there’s a hum in the air, a hollow kind of cheer that doesn’t stick to me.

she’s at their house, with him and the kid I failed to raise. they sip their drinks, tell their stories, unwrap gifts I wouldn’t have bought if things were different. but they aren’t.

the friends I knew are farther now, like smoke fading from an old fire. it’s not wrong or right, just a quiet step back a rearranging of the room.

sad, sure. but there’s a weight off my chest too. like a ghost finally leaving the doorframe.

I take another sip, scratch the dog behind the ears, watch his tail wag like nothing’s wrong. maybe he’s right. maybe nothing is wrong except the time I spent believing in things.

it’s not joy. not the kind in songs or cards. but it’s mine. and for now, it’s enough.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

I have suffered, and I have fallen, not a victim, not a martyr, just a man, raw and real, in every essence of my being.

Karma and luck, they play no part, in the gritty theater of my life. I am ancient, a relic of power, whole and intoxicatingly beautiful.

I am the wolf of the sea, a name, a universe, a force, unbroken by the world's chaos, standing tall in the storm.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

sometimes I am the ocean, old as sin, heavy with the ache of it, every wave crashing like regret, every tide dragging memories I’d rather forget. the weight of years pulls at my ankles, and I let it. sometimes I am a wolf, snarling at the sky, teeth bared at an indifferent moon that won't even blink back. I run until my lungs burn, chasing shadows that dissolve the second I touch them. but most days I’m just a man. no gods to pray to, no stars to chart the way, just this sick joke of a cosmos dangling salvation like a carrot on a string. you laugh, you cry, and in the end, you die. and yet I keep moving. the ocean still heaves, the wolf still howls. and this man, this man keeps stumbling on broken knees toward something that might just be enough.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

you walk through this life like it’s a rigged game, streets full of potholes and broken promises, but you keep moving. each day’s a gamble, a shot of whiskey in a dirty glass, and yeah, you’re down a few bucks, maybe down a few more dreams too, but there’s a crackling spark deep inside you, just enough to keep you from folding. they’ll laugh, the bastards with their shiny shoes and polished lies, they always do, but you’ve seen the bottom of the bottle, and you’ve stared down worse things than a sneer from a suit. you’ll get up, not with some grand, dramatic flourish, but with quiet, stubborn rage. because when it’s all over, you’ll still be here, scarred, tired, but still here. still standing, while the rest crumble under the weight of their bullshit smiles.

by Sebastian Blanchette

chaos hums beneath my skin like a beast that can’t be tamed, a pulse that won’t quit caged magic gnawing at the bars, waiting to tear out, waiting for the world to tilt, for the cracks to show.

and here I am, caught between neither in the light, nor deep enough in shadow. I stand on the edge, always waiting, where the whispers come, but I’m too tired to listen.

there’s a rhythm in the unraveling, like tides from a sea that doesn’t exist, pulling me down, deeper than any god’s bones, older than the stories they wrote. I’ve felt it in my gut, a pull to nowhere, to the places between heartbeats, where everything frays, and I’m barely holding on.

smoke curls, the only anchor I’ve got, keeping me here while time slips, and I forget it all but the past keeps its grip, fingers sharp, dragging me back to the ruins, to the choices I never made.

freedom? hell, it’s just a gacha game another thing they sell in shiny packages. we’re all bound by something, whether it’s blood or fate, or the scars under our skin. we wear our chains, whether we see them or not.

so I stand here, on the edge of everything, waiting for the world to crack, for the magic to break free or for the dark to swallow me whole. but I’m still breathing, still hoping for something more a real thing, maybe, in a world full of shadows.

by Sebastian J. Blanchette

A cosmic dance, beneath the night's expanse, A spirit free, on a celestial trance. Chasing dreams, with unwavering might, A journey of light, through the darkest night.

With every stride, a spark ignites, A heart aflame, with boundless lights. Gazing up, at the vast expanse, Questions linger, yet we advance.

Good vibes guide us, through the past, Surprises come, our bonds will last. Wandering through the night, we paint, Colors bright, a love so quaint.

In the dark, our spirits gleam, Returning with the morning's gleam. For days ahead, let's raise our hands, Embrace the luck, across all lands.

For nights like this, let's make a stand, Cherish moments, hand in hand. When hands meet, beneath the sky, Nothing can divide, our love so high.

Dancing under moonlight's streak, In your presence, my heart does speak. Around the world, our dance so slow, Eyes meet, and a passion grows.

In your light, my soul will glow, With you, my love, forevermore. You make me feel invincible, Your power lights my soul.

At ease with life, unshakable, With you, my love, I am whole. Within my heart, I plead and yearn, For your stories, good and bad.

As the sky begins to turn, Goodnight, my love, I'm glad.

by Sebastian J. Blanchette

you will flicker in these words, in the cracks of old pages, like a cigarette butt held too long, a dying ember— and then you'll go out.

even if I write them, even if I mail every letter, every page stained with sweat and cheap whiskey, you'll never get them. they’ll float out there, like lost dogs, like ghosts.

even if I see you again, in some bar, under some cheap neon light, I’ll never see you again. not the way I did when the world still tasted like hope and you still knew how to smile before the flicker went out.

by Sebastian J. Blanchette