

A Tale of Two Little Leaves
Once upon a time, there lived two little leaves. The first leaf was perfect - beautiful, green, thriving. The second leaf was far from perfect - decrepit, spotted, struggling. Yet their feelings were seemingly antithetical. The first little leaf felt a strange, subtle, lingering sort of angst and disgust knowing that the tree to which it belonged was not nearly as perfect. So many other leaves, so much imperfection. Such ugliness. Such an unfortunate mess for the tree as a whole to not be so beautiful, green, and thriving. The second little leaf felt a similar feeling for a very long time, but then realized that there was no leaf, there was only the tree. And while that tree might be flawed and ugly in some ways, as a whole, overall, it was magnificent and consummate - and all its imperfections made it ironically more perfect. Time passed, and the first little leaf had a similar insight - and a lasting, full sense of bliss and content. This leaf noticed a spot on its otherwise perfect form - such a tragic blemish. But soon the leaf reminded itself that there indeed was just the tree, and many other leaves, many leaves with far more blemishes, many leaves with far fewer, but overall, all in all, the tree was the tree, and that meant the purest form of beauty and wholeness one could possibly imagine. The leaf was all the leaves - all the brilliant and dull ones, all the green and brown ones, all the whole and tattered ones - everything. How silly it is, thought both little leaves, to get caught-up in such little feelings of imperfection and lack when all that really existed was the utter opposite.
Here
On this site
I miss people
I don’t know
I never met
But whom I see
In their entirety
Because
We reveal ourselves
In these moments
We string together
Words
In code
AI
Could never
(hopefully)
Replicate
What does AI know
Of a first date
Of the sorrow
And beauty
Of seeing
A field
Of your deceased person’s
Favorite flower
Can AI
Walk with me
Drink with me
Cry with me?
It can’t
But what if
It could see me
Then what?
Can I forfeit
My downward spiral
And embrace
Uncharted territory
Or will my trepidation
Shackle me
To my past
Why
Am I so afraid
Of not being afraid
Where
Do I stand
While the future
Swirls
All around me
And the past
Alternately
Stabs me in the back
And won’t let go
It’s my own life
I live
Yet
Making
My own choices
I feel
As if
I’m stealing
From others
Why
Is this my mentality?
I’ve broken
So many times
I can’t see
The whole
Of who I am
Anymore
I used to pray
Someone
Would find me
Now
All I want
Is to find myself
And so My Flower Fades
I remember drunken writes
and broken days,
slurred poetry
and you always understood
the nonsense.
I bought you cookies once,
when you were at your lowest.
You didn't know I was too.
You held those crumbs,
grateful,
I was just glad that
it meant something.
We were etched in ink,
But more.
We were family in our own way.
You called me razzle
I called you an asshole.
We both laughed.
Ill miss our banter
The most.
And your stories in that
slurred southern accent.
And
Writing nonsense in gravity.
The sister I never had.
Wish I'd said it.
At least once.
Feels like a version of me
is lost with you.
One of my favorite parts.
I guess that's why we kill flowers.
Those wilting blooms are for those
That are forced to stay behind.
A reminder.
And So My flower fades.
And I say goodbye.
Knowing that part of me
Will follow you into the dirt,
My favorite friend.
I hope they serve cookies
Where u are.
And I hope they have strippers
And Woodford.
Thank you for everything.
I promise I will never forget
"Old Shells"
May the best of me
follow you down.
Or at least try.
And I will walk away
missing something.
No one will ever hit on my wife
Quite like you.
Or call me a dumbass
when I ramble.
You meant more
than I ever said.
And I'm sorry.
And So My flowers wilt.
May they follow you forever.
My dear friend.
Goodbye. And thank you
for all of it.
For everything to come
Thank you.
My dearest Shells.
Time beats slow in Kentucky
I see her sitting at a pit stop in Kentucky. Her boots up, her wild whiskey grin. Laughing at the lot of us still trapped in this melancholy hell.
“I reckon you all have chills when I step up on you.”
Let me sink here in your tatted skin. “I’m not earthbound, anymore.”
Laughing at our bloodshot lives and wasted plans.
“I’m still here, somehow.”
Let my heart bleed out onto the kitchen floor
remembering her will
the pain of it.
”can you hear me?”
Her hopeless light of marigold
Her stubborn fight against the dying of the light.
”I’m with you, can you see me?”
Her death blowing a hole
straight through the universe
and shattering the moon.
”I love you all, I’m still here.”
We are stolen by her
memory
Our beloved
Shells
Her ghost forever
lives within those
of us who felt the
certain and sudden
drop
from
heaven
as her spirit
hit the sky
Rest now.
Shelley “Shells” Gilreath
May 18th 1981 - April 18th 2025
Without
You know we were somewhere
You know the city smells like fire
And the streets here shine golden in the sun
But without
When I'm without
When I'm left with a head half open
To catch the extra rain
It's like icy water
And I'm falling backwards
Into the river
There are tears on my skin
There are tears on my skin
Metal handles, windy hair
Knuckles worn from holding the clouds
Windows and rows of teeth
Glimmering across the water
But without
Dog in a cage
Dying flower
Light behind our eyes
Without without without
Reason
There are tears
Reverie Ash
He knelt before Reverie Ash, wrists bound, head bowed.
The gold dust on the floor clung to the sweat on his skin, turning him into something half-statue, half-corpse.
Reverie stood over him, silent, hands clasped behind her back.
The room was empty but for the two of them. She had dismissed the guards — not out of mercy, but out of respect.
Some reckonings must be private.
“I loved you,” he whispered, voice breaking open like a wound. “I followed you. Everything you asked—”
He choked on his own breath.
Reverie tilted her head slightly, studying him like an interesting ruin.
“I never asked for anything,” she said, voice like steel skimming ice.
“I expected.”
The was a difference.
Fear stripped the color from his sky blue eyes when he raised his face to hers at last. But desperation still shone there. Hope clung like rot.
“It’s not too late,” he said. “You could choose a different way. We could still—”
She crouched in front of him in a single, fluid movement, her face mere inches from his.
He flinched.
She smiled.
“You think love is a leash,” she murmured. “You think loyalty is a negotiation.”
She reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, like a mother blessing a child.
“You don’t understand me at all.”
And then — almost tenderly — she pressed a blade, thin as a whisper, beneath his jaw.
Not to kill.
Not yet.
First, she wanted him to see it coming.
First, she wanted him to understand:
He hadn’t failed her by betraying her. He had failed himself by thinking she was someone who could be betrayed.
“You were never my equal,” she said, soft as a secret. “You were my shadow. And I am tired of dragging shadows behind me.”
When she stood again, wiping the blade clean on the edge of her cloak, the room smelled faintly of copper and crushed dreams.
She didn’t look back.
There was no need.
Reverie Ash never mourned what she had already outgrown.