ShrtStry

She says she loves you, but it's the way you make her laugh, or the way you pick up the pieces when the world drops her flat. She loves the comfort, the steady hand, the way you hold the weight she never planned to carry.

But that’s not love, is it?

She doesn’t know your storms, your quiet nights when you can’t breathe right, or how your heart beats a little slower each time you bend to pick her up. You’re a mirror she polishes just enough to see her own reflection in, always clean, always clear.

You think it’s love, but it’s a transaction, a take without the give, a slow siphon where you wake up one morning emptier than the day before, and you wonder when that happened— if it was slow or sudden. But it doesn’t matter; she’s already gone.

She’s found a new hand, a new reflection, and you’re left with the quiet truth: She never loved you, just the way you made her feel.

by Sebastian J. Blanchette

I crawled out of the wreckage, bent but still standing, with the weight of her lies pressed heavy on my chest, like a jacket worn too long, fraying at the seams. She had me good—hooked, caught in the web of promises that crumbled like ash when the coffee went cold.

But then there she was, sitting by the window, the sunlight spilling over her, cutting through the steam rising from her cup, her eyes clear, alive—like she'd seen enough but hadn’t given in.

I stared, not caring who noticed. No ghosts tapping on my shoulder, no regrets whispering in my ear, just her, moving like a story I could never finish.

Her smile—smooth and strong, like the first sip of something you didn’t know you needed, burning clean through the past, leaving me open, honest, ready to shed the old skins.

I told her everything— the wreckage, the ruins, the scars left by hands that weren’t mine. And she listened, not with judgment, but with the kind of silence that makes you feel seen.

She was a blank page, untouched by the ink of my past, and for once, I saw something ahead that wasn’t just the same cup, cold and bitter, waiting to be emptied.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

you played your games, you had your fun, but now the joke’s on me. i’m the guilty one, you say, like the world turned upside down while you were out screwing lies into the night.

you strayed, crushed what we had, but somehow, here I am, carrying your cross. you spin stories like a drunk too far gone to care, weaving them together with the scraps of a love you tore apart.

go on, twist the knife, build your fantasy. but lies are like cigarettes, they burn down, they fade out. and truth? it sticks in your teeth, no matter how hard you try to spit it out.

keep playing the martyr, wear your guilt like a crown, but in the end, you’ll choke on your own bullshit. because in this wreck, this disaster you created, it’s your own heart you’ve left behind to rot.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

In the depths of my soul, an abyss lies, Vast and uncharted, where no light flies. A chasm so deep, it swallows the sun, A black hole devouring, leaving none.

It pulls me further into eternal night, A darkness profound, devoid of light. Each grasp for meaning, each desperate plea, Met with cold emptiness, unfeeling, free.

In this realm of sorrow, I am lost, A wanderer in shadows, tempest-tossed. Yet within this chaos, strength does reside, A paradox of power, where fears abide.

For in the heart of this abyssal space, Lies a force unyielding, a hidden grace. A god of chaos, with laughter and might, Born from forgotten realms, out of sight.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

In the depths where shadows writhe, A figure stands, grotesque, alive. With arms that twist in spectral night, Each hand a relic of morbid fright.

Moons that bleed with crimson tears, Wheels that turn with ancient fears. Faces with wings, eyes hollow and cold, A dance of dread, a tale untold.

In the murk of twilight’s veil, A presence looms, a ghostly wail. Guarding secrets, dark and dire, In whispers soft, like funeral pyre.

A guardian of realms unseen, In twilight’s grip, a ghastly queen. With every arm, a world decays, In her embrace, the cosmos frays.

In chambers vast of endless gloom, Where silence reigns, a living tomb. Her eyes, like voids, consume the light, Her breath, a chill in endless night.

The shadows bow, the darkness bends, To her command, the night descends. In her domain, no hope can bloom, Only despair, eternal doom.

Her laughter echoes, cold and stark, A symphony of the abyssal dark. In every corner, terror weaves, A tapestry of haunted eves.

Oh, wretched soul, who dares to tread, In her domain, among the dead. Beware the gaze, the touch, the breath, For she is mistress of living death.

In the heart of night, where horrors dwell, She reigns supreme, a queen of hell. With every arm, a curse she sows, In her embrace, the darkness grows.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

if it’s love, let it cut you open let it rip through the bones of who you were love is love, they say, so make it raw
make it loud, make it something they can’t ignore don’t let them doubt it let it be a blade that carves deep.

love is love, so love him like you’ve never known loss like you’ve never tasted betrayal give him the best of what you’ve got left cradle him like a newborn burn for him like an old flame but never leave him with nothing but dust.

silence those voices in your head, the ones that whisper you’ll break again. if it’s real, let it sink its teeth in let it dig, let it grow, let it change you.

love is love I had my time, and so did you but don’t let the ghosts of what we were haunt you. love him like it’s the only truth left make it the only thing you can’t regret

by Sebastian J. Blanchette

Life burns at both ends, wild like a fire on a forgotten beach. You were the ash that fell silent, leaving me to sweep up the mess. You left, and I wandered through the wreckage, picking up old matches and memories, clinging to the sting because it was all that was left. My bones, brittle and dry, cracked under the weight of loving you, hollowed out by the fire we fed, each crackle another thief stealing what little was left of me. I drowned in the smoke, choked on the words I never said, each breath a reminder that the fire was real, that I was the one who fed the flames. But pain is a familiar friend, and I learned, bit by bit, how to stop searching for you in the ashes, how to let the wind take them wherever it pleased. Now, I walk these empty streets, changed but not broken, finding echoes of myself in the silence, in the shattered glass, in the way the night still falls even after the madness. The door’s there, still ajar on its rusty hinges. I walk by it often, knowing one day I’ll pass through it again, slowly, like a man tempting fate, striking a match not to rekindle the past, but to light a new path, hoping it leads me to somewhere I can call home.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

we crawl through this existence, scarred and weary, knowing damn well we’ll break and be broken. it’s the toll we pay for feeling anything at all. to savor the bloom, we bear the frost’s sting. to be here, we confront the abyss. in this gritty waltz, pain and joy share a bed, each sorrow a prelude to a fleeting smirk. our collective walk, a mosaic of sobs and chuckles, pieced together by the same rough hands. to love is to risk, to live is to bet. we bare our souls, knowing they’ll bleed. yet in this raw, beautiful chaos, we find our truth, we take our chance. we stride through the flames, scars and all, because the alternative is a life half-lived, a heart half-shut. we kiss the chaos, the unknown, because in the end, it’s the only way to truly be alive. so we dance, awkward and unafraid, knowing that every stumble, every fall, is just another part of this wild, wonderful ride. and in the end, when the music fades, we’ll look back and see that every moment, every tear and every laugh, was worth it.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette

We wrap ourselves in security blankets, the flicker of TV shows, the hum of movies, books that whisper our adoration, music that wrings tears from our eyes. Saved photos, lost in the endless scroll, searching for a past that slips through our fingers.

Are these the pieces that built us? Am I just a creature stitched from poems, songs, whiskey, cheesecake, and Arthurian legends? We gather our trinkets, build our nests, surround ourselves with fragments of our essence.

Have all my kisses been forgotten, those pressed to the lips of women I loved, those offered to the sea, and those intimate pecks lost to the void?

Am I a lover because I’m enough, or because I know the ache of what’s not enough? Am I an artist because I watched others dance, or is it the metal in my bones, binding me, slowing me, turning my own dance into a cultural shame?

We gaze outward for answers buried within, questioning the colors, the mist, the dew, the snow, and the sun’s rise and fall since our youth.

Did the cigarette smoke, the fights, the running away ignite my romance, or did the books I cherished teach me the true tenderness of gentleness?

Was I deceived by caution? The craving for innocence and purity? Why does the lawless and tainted beckon, leaving us in doubt?

Why do we flee loneliness, yet seek it in crowded rooms? Why do Friday and Saturday nights come with a hunger, an urge to explore, to be surrounded, to feel whole?

If I knew the answers to these questions, would I be a religious man? Or just another knot in the endless thread of those who gazed at the stars?

Sometimes I wonder if there is no answers at all. Just art, delicacies, booze, and scribbles. We gather these things, soak in them, hoping they’ll seep into us, shape us, into something more, or at least something people are attracted to.

by Sebastian J. Blanchette

the wind, my old friend, takes me by the collar, drags me through the streets, past the ghosts of yesterday, whispering secrets of the lost and found.

the past, not a chain, but a smirk in the mirror, a reminder of battles fought, and scars worn with pride, as the days grow lighter, and the gods play their games, laughing as mortals die.

my soul, a restless student, ever hungry for wisdom, my heart, a reckless fool, charging headlong into chaos, embracing the bruises, the lessons etched in flesh and bone.

we surrendered to the magic, danced with the shadows of our forebears, feet tracing ancient rhythms, an old soul tuning into the eternal hum, the pulse of the universe, a symphony of time and space.

I read the cards, wore the stones, let the smoke of old rituals chase away the darkness, the weight of the world lifted, if only for a moment.

runes scattered on my desk, curses melted into wax, books whispering secrets, teaching me to breathe, to find peace in the chaos, to see beauty in the broken.

and as the wind carries me, in every which way, I smile at the journey, the twists and turns, the highs and lows, knowing that in the end, it’s all part of the dance.

By Sebastian J. Blanchette