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What wasted lives we live…

There are some things you cannot unsee. Knowledge is not power but the death of Innocence.

all the hidden rivers
in my hands of rain

This work © 2026 by Lee Zimmerman is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International

Strange and Beautiful

Total lunar eclipse, March 3, 2026.

Feral

She learned to love herself like a curse—unyielding, sovereign, and utterly untouchable.

I salt my thresholds and let the world knock in vain.

I bloom where curses were planted, fed by the bones of those who wished me gone.

I walk the ledge between fear and flight, where every step is a quiet argument with gravity.

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Your mask is porcelain perfection—
until the cracks weep something black and irrevocable, tasting like the grave you already carry inside.

I wear my shadows like a crown and whisper my will into the bones of the night.

People speak, and I hear only the dull echo of a language I no longer care to understand.

I’ve outgrown humanity the way a wound outgrows its tenderness—into numb, permanent silence.

By the time I’ve survived the war inside my skull, there will be nothing left of me worth sending into this world.

I understand why they reach for youth’s easy sunlight, for I have become a winter of sharp truths, too cold for careless hands.