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Cry

Sniff until your knees hum. Blink out tiny frogs that sing lullabies.

It’s not broken. It’s just your heart taking a walk.

Let it.

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The walls make a sound. Not wires. Something older. Like a sleeping machine.

At the end is a window. It shows a car park that isn’t real.

A woman walks by. She holds a clipboard. She doesn’t write. She looks at you like you’re a number.

The corridor turns. It didn’t before. Now it turns again. Now it keeps turning.

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Birds

They do not migrate.

They expand.

They colonize the air.

They build nests in the minds of children and teach them to dream in percentages.

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Unitled Limbs jerk with charge. Fangs strip flesh of name. Dust chokes on silence.

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Art of Severance

Cities collapse behind them— concrete veins split open with footprints; trash-stained memories dumped in gutters. No names. No leashes. This isn’t about clinging. It’s about severance.

People stare like it hurts. Then they flinch. Eyes like black holes—too much gravity, too much to swallow.

A skeleton stretched outside the rulebook. Bones bent, shape forged in friction. Fashion industry calls it wrong but is the war.

Shadows aren’t retreats. They’re battlegrounds. Silence vibrates louder than applause. Watchers can’t see. Art sneaks in, uninvited but desired.

Coltrane didn’t play notes. He detonated them. Every blow of his horn was bloodletting. Chaos howled. Pain singed cutting new paths through the body.

Creation doesn’t beg. It bleeds. No galleries. No curtains. Just bare hands pulling something raw out of the wound. Edges thrown into the void, letting gravity decide what sticks.

Nomad. Not a tourist. Not absent—Free. Loneliness is like a brush, slathering forgotten shades across semi-abandoned walls.

Marcin Ciszek 2025

photo by Marcin Ciszek, London 2018

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A storm fell in love with a bruise.

We walked Harris backwards, tongues tasting peat and regret.

You wept into the wind— it bit me lovingly.

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25

acrylic on canvas

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Aye

He is bi

He is beautiful

Like diamonds in the sky

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Adult

oil on canvas

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And then, without warning, the thread snaps.

Chaos

Then

Nothing in too much.

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Marcin Ciszek -"How To Remain Calm While Carrying Explosives In The Pock...

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Soft paws, a quiet shadow, eyes that see, always near.

A warm weight, a gentle purr, never asking, pure love.

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Granite lungs, plastic dreams— running in circles, paying in blood.

Repeat. Repeat.

No end. No exit. Only motion. Only fans. Only ghosts buying more ghosts.

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Maculinity.exe

Binary sweat drips down steel spine, Algorithm muscles flex in time. Neon jawline carved from chrome, Echoes of fathers, static-grown.

Error 404: Feelings not found, Wires cross where tears should sound. Feedback loops, synthetic pride, Loading rage—cannot hide.

Maculinity.exe, Running dark, corrupted free. Shockwave pulse, a fractured crown, Buzzing loud—won’t shut down.

Muscle-memory made of code, Knuckles crash in overload. Zero-sum, a game of flesh, Circuit-lord in neon mesh.

Power pose in ultraviolet haze, Firmware glitch, emotional maze. Authority patched, Masculine ghosts in the mainframe.

Reboot—who am I now? Patch the heart, reroute the vow. Maculinity.exe fades, Just a whisper in the cascade…