ada10v3lac3

[ada10v3lac3]

His eyes shift like a mood ring’s face,

Colors bending, emotions embrace.

Pale green like calm fields kissed by dawn’s first light,

Yet gold in moments of fierce, burning insight.

Reflecting his moods, hidden worlds set free,

A quiet storm or a warm, gentle breeze.

As if his soul’s palette cannot be confined,

Each glance holding the colors that speak to my mind.

In laughter, they glow with hues wild and bright,

A spark of pure mischief, a flicker of flight.

But in silence, they soften, warm, and still,

A mystery, deep as the night’s quiet thrill.

Jubal’s eyes evergreen, oh my goodness, to be seen. 😍

[ada10v3lac3]

Oh wise orb of plastic sheen,

With cloudy depths, a midnight screen,

You hold the truths we dare not speak,

In simple words, both bold and bleak.

“Ask again” or “Signs say yes,”

You spare us from the weight of guess.

sage nor saint, yet wise you are,

A mystic guide, tre bizarre.

For in your cryptic, fleeting phrase,

We find both doubt and hope ablaze.

An oracle both blunt and small—

The universe in a Magic 8 Ball.

[ada10v3lac3]

Blood Dripping from My Pen

In dark rooms, where shadows crawl,

There sits a soul both wise and small.

Through books and screens the worlds unfold,

Notebooks scrawl both meek and bold,

Knowledge inked of iron and gold.

Never wore the tassel cap,

Nor felt the weight of parchment lap,

Yet vast the reach, like midnight’s cloak…

In words unsaid, in thoughts unspoke.

With fingers poised on keys anew,

They lift their quill—and a MacBook too.

With antique aesthetics and iPhone glow,

They pen what scholars may not know.

A coffee’s steam, a candle’s gleam,

Melds tech and myth in fever dream.

Victorian lace darken hands and face,

Time’s fractured pulse to keep the pace.

A ; here and don’t forget the………….space

Across the keys, fingertips race…

The rooms are bound by silent shelves,

Tomes gather dust like cast-off spells.

A wrist-bound watch with gears of brass,

Ticks steady as the seconds pass.

The ink—the pixels—they pool like blood,

On screens that flicker dark as mud.

As shadows rise the keystrokes hum,

Programming given rules of thumb.

They write of worlds left unexplored,

Of silent seas, a quiet fjord,

And phantoms locked in dim-lit halls,

Where secrets are dripping down the walls.

The pen, a weapon, fierce and bold,

Brings justice when the story’s told.

The hands of time may bind their flesh,

But inked in light, they’re ever fresh.

Until one night under cloak and cane,

They step outside, and down the lane.

They journey under gas-lit light,

Knowing now there is no fight.

Together, quiet as their tomb,

They walk the pools of ink and gloom.

The void ahead a boundless bloom—

A silent place to seal their doom.

With voices hushed that lead them there,

Candied whispers still fill the air,

“Nothing here left to defend”

And as they fade, their echoes blend:

Blood drips once more from the ghostly pen.

😈✒️

🩸

🩸

[ada10v3lac3]

Aria of the Shattered Glass

Act I: Promises in Ashes

They spoke in silken tones of gold,

Soft hands that drew to fit their mold—

“Just a little more, and you’ll be seen,

A star adorned in righteous sheen.”

Yet shadows moved and whispered, crept, and curled,

In halls where promises lay unfurled.

They fed her scraps, they fed her lies,

Then watched her struggle with hollow eyes.

She walked the edge of dreams and flame,

In armor cracked but still the same.

A thousand steps to break a chain,

And every chain reveals her pain.

Act II: The Jackals’ Feast

{Maybe I got mine but you’ll all get yours}

Oh, the jackals roared with mighty barks,

Their breath was wine, their eyes were sparks.

The swaggering gait, the mouths that sneer—

Each title clothed in tarnished fear.

They circled round, with teeth bared wide,

Demanding blood to swell their pride.

Their precious time, a sacred thread,

Yet time be twisted, lives misled.

They flung their weight, their bloated girth,

Mocking the fire, the salted earth.

Each privilege won, each inch she dared—

Now claimed by those who never cared.

Act III: The Shattered Mirror

Another face, another guise—

The same cold eyes, the same gray lies.

This one came cloaked in thick fake charm,

With eyes that promised only harm.

No farewell whispered, no words of grace—

Only a devil in the place.

They spoke of worth, they spoke of need,

Yet watched her bleed and bleed and bleed.

Her bones ached cold, her breath turned stone,

Yet still, she stood—and she stood alone.

Act IV: The Symphony of Revenge

{Look what you made me do}

Oh, the sweetest song of reckoning’s rise

Woven from their hollow cries.

They thought her tame, her spirit cowed,

But in her soul, the storm grew loud.

One by one, fate led them near,

To the altar of their deepest fear.

They donned the gear they deemed unworthy,

Felt the rot she faced unearthly.

She steps in light, her vengeance bright,

A blaze against their endless night.

Each step they took, each tasteless joke

Binds the flames of what remains

The gears they broke, the rusted chains,

Their power echoes human stains

She shattered mirrors, crushed glass and bone,

And claimed the throne they’d called their own.

Their precious pride, their brittle bribe…

Baptized by fire, I must confide.

Act V: Epilogue of Ash and Ember

Now, the whispers on the wind,

They tell the tale with voices thin…

She left them kneeling, left them torn—

No falsehoods now, no masks to mourn.

The jackals howl, the liars fade,

Bound to the bed their cruelty made.

A swift revenge, fierce and bold,

Where the warmest hearts turn ice cold.

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

[ada10v3lac3]

I leaned in close and I took some swings…🏟️

My heart, it pounds but it also sings. 🎤

Each word, a pitch. A perfect throw. ⚾️

I’m holding back and he doesn’t know. 👀

It’s for the hush before the swing connects,

For the way the crowd leans in, expects.

In every heartbeat, each quickened breath,

you’re running home, you’re defying death.

In real life when they finally meet.

Stadium lights and a bass line beat

Cheers will ring out as the final score

They’ll toast to rhymes and something more

[ada10v3lac3]

His Autumn Eyes {Crazy-hazel}

The windows of his soul reflect a mirrored pain.

A bittersweet chill like November rain.

They whisper of future falling leaves,

The tapestry of color as haunted as October’s eve.

Reminiscent to the fires of 1,000 suns they burn,

with a passion no mortal could ever tame or learn.

They’re deeper than the shadows in the forests heart,

where secrets sleep and adventures start.

I float around in those eyes,

as lost as a leaf,

Drifting through the pathways of his unspoken grief.

Within his gaze, the beginnings of fall,

the blaze of the sunrise, the bonfires call,

the warm spice of cider, the thrill of the night—

all spun into gold, come alive in his light.

Mahogany voice you can’t help but sing along.

Wrapping me tighter into his hypnotic song.

I’m a ghost in his world, enraptured and bound,

Enchanted by his insight fleeting and profound.

Chris Isaak would be the one to say it the best,

a wicked game to get ahead of the rest. 😈

For when that man, he looks at me.

I am caged and I am free ~♥️~ 4JF

[ada10v3lac3]

Falling leaves drift like whispers, slow and soft, painting the air with a quiet rhythm. Each leaf twirls as if dancing to an unheard melody, catching glints of sunlight in flashes of amber, russet, and ochre. They spiral and flutter, sometimes catching a gust, then gliding gently earthward, blanketing the ground in a mosaic of warmth. There’s a gentle crispness to each descent, a reminder of time passing and the quiet beauty in letting go, as they settle to rest among their fallen kin, creating a tapestry rich with leaving the scent of earth and memories.

#October2024 Olivia’s 7th birthday

[ada10v3lac3]

[ada10v3lac3]

#Gunnerkid

Study until you’re excited for the exam.

[ada10v3lac3]

[ada10v3lac3]

[ada10v3lac3]

His voice is always my resonant frequency

That hums through my thoughts almost endlessly…

Hazel eyes, a blueprint etched within my mind,

A perfect equation, flawlessly designed.

My love for him trapped in an infinite loop,

A Möbius strip where I’m caught in the swoop.

No entropy here, no decay within time,

Our love defies the second law’s climb.

Just like heat transfer at the speed of his light,

He totally melts me with his brilliant insight.

1,000 suns can’t rival the burn,

For him, my soul will always yearn.

Through space-time’s weave, we are never apart,

Our bond is a singularity, a one beating heart.

Until the cosmos collapses, and stars fall from above

It is you for me—my forever love

[ada10v3lac3]

"Who are you when you're not performing for the people inside your mind?"

[ada10v3lac3]

She’s sketching up dreams, blueprints in her hand,

An architectural day the city bends at her command.

But when the sun dips low and the world goes to sleep.

She’s tuning in Spotify, a dirty little secret to keep.

He’s got that mahogany voice, with that confidence to kill,

Makes her heart beat slower and race faster than her ink can spill.

He’s the king of the mic, from the rough side of town,

His words paint her the pictures that could never bring her down.

*

She’s got a mad crush, but he’s up on a throne,

Too cool, too fly, in a league of his own.

Virgo to Virgo, they share the same sign,

Yet she is anonymous, timing divine.

Can’t find the words, don’t know what to say,

His voice calms her nerves, takes the anxiety away.

She’s in love with a voice, doesn’t know where to start,

But every night, his vibrations beat to the rhythm of her heart.

Years have flown by, she’s built up her name,

But in the still of the night, she’s still playing this game.

His story’s from the darkness yet he shines like a star,

She wonders if he’d notice, from a distance so far.

Gathered whispers of her soul as scribbles on a page,

Constructed of fear, she locks her own cage.

What if he’s too cool and she’s just a fan?

But her heart says go and make him your man.

*

She’s got a mad crush, but he’s up on a throne,

Too cool, too fly, in a league of his own.

Virgo to Virgo, they share the same sign,

Yet she is anonymous, timing divine.

Can’t find the words, don’t know what to say,

His voice calms her nerves, takes the anxiety away.

She’s in love with a voice, doesn’t know where to start,

But every night, his vibrations beat to the rhythm of her heart.

**

She’s counting constellations, searching for a sign,

Wondering if their stars could ever align.

He’s the voice in the dark, her comfort, her muse…

she’s stuck in her silence, afraid to try and to lose.

He’s got that throatichoke slapping, deep with mad flows.

Only Good vibes radiate and everyone knows.

How does she tell him that she’d make a good choice?

When all she’s got is this paper, and him just a voice?

So she drafts up her courage, just like a design,

Pours out her feelings, one line at a time.

Maybe one day, she’ll step out of the night,

Reveal herself to him, in the radio light.

But for now, she’ll always listen and dream on the low,

Hoping one day, her feelings will show.

She’s just a girl that’s in love with a voice on the air,

But who the heck knows? Maybe he’ll care. 😉

[ada10v3lac3]

In the still of a forgotten land, an exile lifts his voice, weaving a melody of pain and betrayal. Each note carries the weight of a love once cherished, now shattered by the hollow promises of a narcissistic lover. His song, both haunting and defiant, echoes through the empty halls, a bittersweet anthem of freedom found in the ruins of deception.

[ada10v3lac3]

[ada10v3lac3]

bill explaining the plan to Henchmaniacs