What Brings You To This Land?

psychoanalyzing the gender/identity dichotomy between ice skating and ice hockey and coming to the more objectively correct conclusion that ice hockey is rooted in motherly feminine behavior of protecting the nest and that ice skating is about masculine peacocking of one's own physical prowess in seeking a mate

but when i die

let mine eyes not take a last look

at your beautiful wings

those rosèd locks of hair

all of your- pretty little things

that i could only dream of

and when i fall to the ground

let it not be caused by thy wings

the wings that saved, and picked me up

the ground so sweetly whispering me forth

the wind that caught me, and pulled me up

for lilies in the grass call my name.

day ruined after getting a papercut from a starburst wrapper

no longer aroace guys i fell in love with the girl from ipanema

are we to dine in the eternal mind

of sacred ingenuity ?

these seats in which our souls entwine

to speak the language of floral fluency?

at a loss, we stare round the bar

frantically at auburn stars

to seek the everlasting love

the love of which cannot undress.

veils of fiery violet craft

keep us from our rising yearn

to source the evil that we learn

in finding us, our homemade raft.

acab except for those two funky cops from gravity falls

The Reapers Song by HybridDH

Art by ghost_entity

https://x.com/ghosty_entity?s=21

In shadows deep, she walks alone,

A quiet girl with none to own,

A scythe she holds, both sharp and grand,

But gentle is her guiding hand.

Not one for words, she lets things be,

Her eyes speak more than we can see.

No need for crowds, nor praise to claim,

The unknown world is hers to tame.

Beneath the hood, her hair does fall,

She listens close to death’s own call,

Not shy, not fearful of her role,

She guards the passage of the soul.

She steps with grace, her robe so long,

But there’s a sweetness in her song,

The quiet hum that none can hear,

But comforts those who wait in fear.

She doesn’t boast, she doesn’t cry,

She simply lets the moments fly.

Her touch, though cold, is soft and kind,

She brings peace to the troubled mind.

The scythe she wields might seem so grim,

But she’s the one who helps them swim

Through waters dark and shores unknown,

Guiding the lost ones safely home.

And though her job may seem so bleak,

Her heart’s a place where love does speak.

In every soul she helps to go,

She plants a seed for hope to grow.

She loves the quiet, loves the night,

Not one for fame or spotlight bright,

Her cloak’s a comfort, like a friend,

A hidden place until the end.

For in her silence, she has found

A way to help without a sound.

She smiles a smile no one can see,

But in her soul, she’s truly free.

She watches life, she watches death,

Yet feels no sadness, no regret,

For in the end, she knows the truth—

There’s beauty even in lost youth.

So off she goes, with steps so light,

A reaper girl within the night,

Her heart aglow with love so pure,

For every soul, she finds the cure.

In every end, there’s a new start,

A gentle hand, a loving heart,

For though she’s grim, she’s never cold,

She brings new stories to unfold.

kinda bored, might blame all my problems on capitalism idk