Liminal Poetry
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A beast returns from the dark to wear the living as a mask and leave the land hollow—what once breathed the earth is gone, and the hollow waits, smiling in the dark.
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A polite crowd peels away to reveal a stitched scarecrow and a grin that feeds—this verse strips the disguise from civilisation and lets a single, relentless accusation ring out: people are just no good.
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A mirror multiplies a fractured self until image and flesh trade places—recognition becomes a transaction, and the thing that answers wants to be more than a copy.
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A shadow swells where forgiveness should be and the speaker learns a new motion in the glass—prayers become a litany of names and time leaks away into a soft, hungry forgetting.
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A forgiveness printed into the room keeps dampening memory until the speaker becomes an image on the wall—voices recorded in ink and skin refuse to stay quiet and the holder of the promise begins to rot inside.
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A stuttering hymn where sea and static conspire—breaths stretch into a breaking rhythm and screens feed the silence until mornings sour and memory drowns.
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A braided ritual of words and salt drifts on the tide of a fractured mind—shared sins stitch a mirror that yields a stranger and leaves the speaker watching from inside the glass.
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Admiration curdles into absence as celebrity and worship conspire—a speaker learns the cost of being the thing people clap for and discovers the hollow left behind when applause becomes appetite.
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A thread of appetite pulls the speaker through mirrors and mud—wishes knit into flesh and shards of truth slice the edges of self until only a hungry reflection remains.
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A pale glow at the tunnel’s birth becomes a lure that reshapes memory—one who leans toward it finds the light answers like appetite and realises the hollow inside has been waiting all along.
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A nameless absence wakes in the dark and lays claim—stolen moments gather into a single wet instant that keeps your name on a wall and will not let you go.
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A winter of memory unravels into a mirror of loss, where blood and screens stitch a quieter hunger — the speaker watches a life split and finds something patient and unreturning staring back.
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A lullaby becomes a trap as a small appetite widens into a mirror of appetite and shadow — a speaker’s rhythm loosens memory and invites a darker twin to stare back.