Black Wolf Poetry

08/04/2026

POEM 2

~~~~~~~~~~
~CRAD
~~~~~~~~~~

I lived;
Like a forgotten cellar,
Damp and dark,
Like a graveyard echo
That scared everyone out of their ribs.

Winters were lodged
In my deepest parts,
Like the ice age that ruled my bones,

But now my heart has risen to my tongue,
It is all that rains from my lips,
A riot, a flood of how I love you,
From all that I breathe
In my dawns and sunsets.

It is spring in my lungs,
Your skin is my air,
It smells like lavender,
Every minute I think of you,
And my pulse dances into fire.

My dear this is me with you,
With your touch.
©ⓚⓡⓨⓟⓣⓘⓒ

21/03/2026

POEM 1

~~~~~~~~~~
~CRAD
~~~~~~~~~~

The trees don't feel nor look the same;

The baobab is thinner,
And I could cut it down
With a handful of razorblades.

And I can dance and slither,
My way up and down the Whistling thorn,

Today I can write my name
Where the eucalyptus can not touch.

The sky isn't blue, grey nor black,
It's yellow, orange and red
Like the fire in my little soul.

Maybe this is how it is;
When you're loved,
Everything becomes less heavy,
Wounds and scars
melt down into roses and daffodils.

My dear this is me
With you, with your touch.
©ⓚⓡⓨⓟⓣⓘⓒ

06/03/2026

IT IS A HEAVY DAY

My eyes are grey skies
Weeping droplets onto my skin;
The day clogs my heart,
Everything is too much to wear,
Inhaling, exhaling,
The past, the future,
Doing nothing,
It's all scraping my heart.

I am drowning in this existence
Like a stone sinking in tar.
My own thoughts are weighted chains
Dragging me down,
And no rope unfulrs to grab,
No life jacket inflates to buoy,
No life boat creaks to rescue.

It is a heavy day
For whatever dark reason it picked,
Even writing about it
Feels half cooked,
Feels like tasting ash,
The words are scattered like broken beads,
A bunch of haphazard similes
Smear like fresh bruises,
The metaphors and the imagery
Limp like wounded dogs,
It's all stupid, stupid, stupid,
Let's end it here.
©ⓚⓡⓨⓟⓣⓘⓒ

01/03/2026

28/02/2026

LITTLE TRUTHS 3

Poems

It feels as if this is the furthest
My poems can run to,
To nowhere but my hollow gazes.
They're just not crawling out of my heart anymore.

This isn't to say the words have descended
Into a better looking hole,
Nor have I run out of pain,
To bellow about in dull metaphors,
In damp similes,
And my madness is still
A red eyed raging beast.

But now the poems feel like a roofless house,
With glass walls
And I am dancing naked
In it.
~CRAD

15/02/2026

MID NIGHT MUSING

~~~~~~~~~~
•°•°•°CRAD
~~~~~~~~~~

i am horrible at love
i've never really figured it out,
and most days i taste
like a mixture of coffee
and cooking oil.
(still she hunts for the sips)

i tremble at the thought
of being loved whole heartedly,
it burns my mind into anxiety,
it sits on my throat
like a pack of thorns,
but i want to love her
in a way the universe has never tasted.

she's an amazing heart beat,
i want to be patient with her
like coral reefs building steadily underwater,
as surefooted as glaciers,
moving with time,
i want to rise and bloom
with her like winter daffodils.

i want to know; all the shapes
and sizes of her smiles,
to know how her lips
draw different syllables,
to know the way her eyes
change with every mood.

i wish to discover the stories
buried in the lines on her palms,
i wish to unravel the mysteries
of her quietest moments.
i wish to love her
like i've just met her
when the only language
her body would be fluent
in is wrinkles.
~~~~~~~~~~
ɞʟѧċҡ ɰoʟғ poєţяʏ

01/02/2026

LITTLE TRUTHS 2

Grief

i admit it, i am addicted
to my own hell,
to this self fueled despair.
i am a willing captive
to my own emotional grave.

this poetry nonsense
is supposed to be therapy,
but all these words
are angels with pitchforks,
they're wounds, scars
and grief.

do you know what my grief is?
it's an ocean of love
with nowhere to call home,
it screams in my sleep,
it burns my heart,
i can't stretch it
into yesterday or into memory,
it sits in my every breath.

how can i not be addicted
to my own breath
how can i not be a captive
to my own existence?
~CRÂD

18/01/2026

TRANSITION BUT

~~~~~~~~~~
•°•°•°CRAD
~~~~~~~~~~

It feels like I've bled all the poems out of my existence;
It feels like there are no more
Pieces of me left to gather,
Like there are no wounds to sing about.

I think I have finally swallowed
The wildfire that lived on my tongue,
I have cried enough a river
To drown the molten sun
That lived in my chest.

Or maybe over the piling of years
I have gotten used to siting between the jaws of your absence,
It just can not crush my ribs anymore.

But me knowing me,
I'll still try to dig a grave
Where there's no earth.
~~~~~~~~~~
©ⓚⓡⓨⓟⓣⓘⓒ
ɞʟѧċҡ ɰoʟғ poєţяʏ

02/01/2026

As The Poem Creeps In Slow:

~~~~~~~~~~
•°•°•°CRAD
~~~~~~~~~~

Life trickles away
like honey
From a forgotten jar,
Thick, golden, and sticky with longing.
It pools at your feet,
A gluey mess of what-ifs and almosts,
Mocking you with its slow,
deliberate drip.

It's all hyenas and madness;
How memories cling
To the walls of your mind,
Desperate fingerprints
of moments that refuse to fade.
They smudge and smear
A racially ambiguous
Watercolor of joy and pain,
Bleeding into each other
Until you can't tell them apart.

You're a leaf clinging to a branch
in autumn,
Fingers tightening around twigs
As the wind whispers,
"It's time, let go, let go."
But you hold on, don't you?
Convincing yourself it's still spring,
Refusing to believe the lie of permanence.
~~~~~~~~~~
©ⓚⓡⓨⓟⓣⓘⓒ
ɞʟѧċҡ ɰoʟғ poєţяʏ

01/12/2025

So Far Gone

~CRAD

as many times as
my tears have carved
canyons down my cheeks,
and i've painted
my mind with regret,
i can't fold my heart
into concrete nor stone,
not even a fist,
against the thought of you.
ɞʟѧċҡ ɰoʟғ poєţяʏ

17/11/2025

COLD DAYS

~CRAD

These are the cold of the cold days;
They do not dwell in the daze of the streets,
Or in the greying of the skies.

Know this,
There's little difference
Between flying and falling,
And when one is in love
There's no difference between life and death,
And that my dear friend
Is the father of cold days.

These are the yearnings
And longings worth dying for,
The tongue of an old lover,
Who can recite the ebb and flow
Of your heart.

The cold days are a cruel sword
From whom you expected
A rose of praise.
They're are grief,
For that one lover
Whose arrow refuses
To leave your heart.

These are the cold
Of cold days.
ɞʟѧċҡ ɰoʟғ poєţяʏ

17/11/2025

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