She’s becoming;
beguiling to behold.
Like safe haven
was his hold.
A rare innocence
she espied.
A pillow for her head
but a weapon to his brain
Drilling holes to his chest;
drained water running down his cheek
-into the bucket for washing
-with her slippery words
-easy and mild
-a very active cleaning agent
-enough to turn blue or white to gray
-washing him among many other pillows.
“The things not cherished are abandoned”
Left to soak for long
cos no place for him to dry,
so long there are more pillows for comfort,
he’s pale..
he’s stale..
he is mat for the foot,
he’s cold..
he’s old..
he is torn on the floor,
he’s dust..
he’s lost..
in his heart.
She knows!
Unlocked From The Archive
This writing was originally created during the early years of my creative journey and has now been carefully preserved inside The Story Vault. Every poem, reflection, and story in this collection represents a chapter in the evolution of my artistic practice—revealing how words, experiences, and imagination gradually transformed into the artworks, craft pieces, and sustainable creations that define The Craft Thriller today.